


Even the best laid plans

by s_t_c_s



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Kissing, Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Rio (Good Girls), Recreational Drug Use, Sex, So much drinking, liberal use of the f word, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-08-31 22:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_t_c_s/pseuds/s_t_c_s
Summary: So I was thinking, what if Rio, drama queen that he is, had this whole plan to reveal to Beth that he's alive BUT Beth was perennially too trashed to really get what was going on? I thought that (and his rising blood pressure) sounded hilarious, so! (...and then some other things happen)Rio's POV, so it's pretty cranky, fairly sweary and, like anything involving these two morons, a shade hypocritical.*COMPLETE*





	1. keeping it real, packing steel

He’d been thinking on it a while, right, wrangling all them plans. The best way to reveal to one Elizabeth Irene Boland that her belief in his death was woefully self-deluding; that she’d royally fucked up.

He wasn’t gonna _kill_ her, least not now. Not with Turner nosing all up in his business like a greedy sow. And while Rio was more than confident the Turner sitch was a problem he could make vanish, till that _was_ dealt with making waves thattaway seemed a poor shout.

That numbskull fed seemed full on _obsessed_ with Elizabeth, it was almost freaky. Had a total fucking hardon for the image of her in an orange jumpsuit. Shit, you’d think she shot _him_.

Rio wasn’t exactly of the mindset that anything _good_ had come of that night, but he could roll with the punches. Now Elizabeth and her _hella_ amateur crew didn’t just owe him money (and they owed him plenty of that).

The amount of leverage he had now, after her trying to bump him? It was almost fucking hilarious, just south of too fun to cope with. She’d always been trying to steamroll him, give her an inch and Elizabeth’d try to run off with a mile and more. And he’d let her try, cos it had been funny. And fun. But no more mister nice guy, it was the vengeful version of him coming to collect.

He’d been pissed as hell over it a spell, and really who could fault that. Three bullets to the chest was enough to rile up anyone. So planning had taken a backseat a sec. It had been kinda funny actually, if he was being honest, though not in the way that made you laugh. Usually anger focussed his mind, had him seeing straighter, made understanding how each piece could be used to his advantage much clearer.

But all that _rage_? It had just been crying out for wanton destruction, crowing for blood, demanding satisfaction indiscriminately. No finesse, no long term vision.

Maybe it had been the pain. It had been a _stretch_ since he’d last been banged up so bad. Or maybe it had been the meds, that doc had been real fucking insistent about the dosage. Rio's mouth twisted at the memory of that bossy old nag acting like he couldn’t handle a little hurt, geez.

Well no matter the cause of that murkiness, it was done. Cos he was more than ready now, had it all mapped out.

And, whatever. He was allowed to be rattled, to be too pissed to think for one goddamn minute. She’d fucking shot him, three times, that shit was _annoying_!

And she hadn’t even finished the job! Which wasn’t annoying for _him_, obviously, but it just proved what he’d always known. She hadn’t listened to even half the stuff he’d tried to impress on her. He’d always known that was gonna be a problem, was clear as day, but she was always waving him off like she knew more than him. Which was primo _bullshit_.

Seemed to think her weird take on the world, gleaned from who knows what – pretty little fairy tales and lies her stupid slippery husband told her probably, and her blazing sense of entitlement meant she had any idea what she was on about.

She was always expecting shit to magically work out for her, cos it probably always had before. Had faith the universe would right itself, specially, cos she was having a hard time.

He knew better. Nothing worth having came easy.

And she’d always been coming to him with her problems! Seemed she’d mistaken him for some knight in shining armour. As if swords or sparkles were his style. That had rubbed him the wrong goddamn way. Even if it had been kinda cute, desperation and admiration curling off her, so obvious, like tendrils of smoke.

_I need money_, _I need this corpse back_, _I need some fucking_ blanket _out that car_.

Well he’d learnt, and early, if you wanted something you worked for it. Unless you had the capacity to just go snatch it. You couldn’t go around trusting other people to solve your problem. Jesus, how sheltered had she _been_?

And, yeah, if it’d been anyone else who gunned him down, even with the Turner problem hanging overhead, he’d probably have taken them out already. But she wasn’t someone else, was she.

To start with, calculating bitch as she was, she was still a suburban mom. And her bullshit the first time he’d had a gun in her face – via a proxy back then, and oh hadn’t things been so much simpler when he had his boys handling her – had been kinda dumb, but also, sorta, not.

Offing a suburbanite wouldn’t necessarily track that much heat – he could handle it, but it wasn’t without its risks. Her little crew, her dumbass husband, maybe even the feds, they had the capacity to point fingers. Taking out the whole lot of them, working out who else they mighta told something to, it all sounded like a headache he didn’t need.

Plus… ever since that bathroom break, shit had gone unnecessarily complicated. He wasn’t saying he couldn’t deal with the dying moans of someone he’d heard whispering his name as she came, he’d boss up if the time came. But it wasn’t exactly number one on his bucket list. He wasn’t a monster.

So he was just gonna get her back in pocket for now, figure out how useful she could be, what he could get from her all properly cowed. She and her reckless crew still owed him, had racked up a significant debt. And he had shit to do to work out this Turner problem – if he could keep Agent Obsessive on the hook a minute, feed him nonsense, he might be able to turn that whole situation to his advantage. And if that didn’t work out, he could just hand Elizabeth over on a silver platter, maybe a big ol’ bow tied round her for good measure. Two birds and all.

He was a little, well not _nervous_ – that wasn’t his thing, but keyed up over seeing her tonight.

For one, he wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t be tempted to fall into a blind rage. The urge to throw stuff around, to get a little too in her face, that’d probably stick pure and strong. She’d _turned_ on him, after all he’d put up with from her, after all he’d tried to teach her. Would’ve left Marcus fatherless if she had her way, and threatening his kid was the quickest way to blow his fuse.

Plus, all that weird heat that’d always been between them? It couldn’t have just evaporated into nothing, it’d have to go somewhere. That was just simple thermodynamics.

He’d been foolish enough to think it might have dissipated some after that first time they banged, but nah. If anything that only made it ratchet up.

He was mad as he’d ever been over the shooting, and no one in their right mind could blame him. But. Well he’d got pretty used to her pleading eyes and her desperate lip biting, those shining smiles when he complimented her or that bright flush when he teased. Got way too familiar with allowing himself the indulgence of enjoying it all. There was probably a chance, though you’d have to bet it’d be small, that shit hadn’t gone away entirely neither.

That’d fucking complicate things.

Whatever he’d felt- but, nah, feelings hadn’t been the thing.

It had just been companionable lust, right? Two people, sharing more than just the one understanding, blowing off some steam. She’d been crystal about how much chance there was of building any trust between the two of them, long before she’d picked Jimmy goddamn Turner’s life over his. They’d just been fucking each other between fucking each other over.

And whatever stuff needed to go away, the residual warmth, any echo of desire, he could grind it down into something else. Into hate, into disgust, into simple lack of interest. He was prepped.

He’d slipped in, silent, through the back door, and god she really needed to start taking her security serious. Thinking he was gone was no excuse for such shoddiness. He’d known no one else would be home, his boys had been watching, sussing her routine.

He’d snuck along, got the pearls on the doorknob, turned on enough lamps to make their presence real obvious. Got himself proper hidden in the shadows, then thwacked that tennis ball hard off the other wall a couple times.

He heard her stumbling around, out her room, and her steps sounded a little different somehow – clumsier, stupider.

Well, good. Maybe all that starry-eyed dumb attraction had already morphed entirely into petty dislike.

Once she made her way into the living room, _eventually_ clocking the pearls after squinting way too long and spinning on her toes, he had to conclude it didn’t seem like a simple shift in his perspective. There was sure something off with her.

“Ooh, my pearls!” She was squealing, all happy, apparently thinking nothing of their return. Like she’d only misplaced them around the house, and a doorknob was a reasonable place for them to resurface. Like she hadn’t hung them in an an empty warehouse to summon him, then never ever asked for them back. As if they weren’t the symbol of a covenant.

She couldn’t even unclasp the necklace on her first try, and then she messed up putting it on more than once and just_ gave it up_. Popped it down carelessly on a side table.

It was… disconcerting. He’d been aiming for intimidation, not playing the part of a mobile lost and found.

Maybe she’d gone softer than he’d ever thought possible without his guidance.

Something uncomfortable was trying to remind him that she’d always been ruthless, outside his tutelage. Before she’d known him she’d bargained for the lives of her and her girls by calling him a dumbass. She’d stolen his pills and strongarmed him into an equal partnership, which he’d sure as hell never guided her to. And, oh yeah, there was that time she’d put three bullets in him.

But she was an unpredictable loose cannon, who the fuck’d know if anything she did was actually sparked by _sense_. And he didn’t have all night to waste on this shit.

And just. Just fuck it. Maybe he didn’t need to pull out all the stops, piss away all his tricks. At least not tonight. He’d have time to taunt her. Or he wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t be his problem any more. Either worked.

He stepped out the alcove with some exaggerated throat clearing and a pitched low, “Elizabeth.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he’d been angling for. He’d anticipated dread, panic, maybe some droning denials.

Not for her to sing out, “Rio!” in what sounded uncomfortably like delight, drawn out like she was trying to shove an extra syllable in the middle of his name. And he certainly couldn’t have predicted her clapping along in excitement.

It was… well, not endearing. If that word had flashed into his mind for a millisecond it was only cos she’d somehow reminded him of an infant Marcus, before he’d got the hang of object permanence and had still yelled ‘daddy’ with adoring relish after every single peekaboo.

Concerning wasn’t the right word for it neither, though it was closer. Had she had an aneurysm or something?

Or had she lost her grip after their little showdown, had guilt taken over? He’d seen that kind of thing happen in the past. Sometimes he forgot she’d never actually killed someone before, or, well, at all. The pride he’d felt, his certainty that he’d made the right choice in taking an interest in her, after she’d offed that Fine and Frugal fool had all been nothing. Bullshit castles in the sky, based on more of her two-faced trash.

Jesus, was she actually totally incapable of telling the truth?

_I ain’t got your money_ – no wait it’s right here; _we got your money_ – in the form of ugly German dolls, that’s legal tender right; _I kill__ed__ him_ – oh oops no I didn’t but I did throw away some extra dead body I had lying around that I paid you to retrieve; _I can’t kill someone_ – oh look I’ve shot you, again and again.

You couldn’t make that kinda shit up.

God, but she was sloppy. And he must’ve gone that way too. He’d humoured her all that time, hadn’t realised how bad the situation had got till it was already too late.

Still, he’d expected better of her. Hadn’t expected her mind to unspool so easy. She’d always managed to maintain some facade of cool, hadn’t she?

And he’d heard she’d been holding shit down, making money – emphasis on the making. Maybe it was her girls who were handling it?

His jaw rocked a little, chewing on words he couldn’t be bothered to speak. If she was broken, he wasn’t sure how much use he could get from her. And that was… vexing.

Suddenly, her smile wobbled and her face blanched. “But. You’re _dead_.”

Oh, good. So she was finally getting it.

Whatever, he could afford to be charitable. Maybe it made sense it’d take a minute to sink in. If Big Andy popped up outta nowhere at his crib he’d probably worry he’d wandered into a Christmas Carol acid trip a moment. Except this wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to him, cos right from the first, if Rio killed someone he made sure to finish the job.

She stepped a little closer, which didn’t wildly reduce his concerns about her mental state, but he tried to remain positive. Maybe he was just that magnetic. She’d stopped acting appropriately afraid of him far too early in their dealings, really. And he’d let it slide, mostly. Had kinda encouraged it. It had been _amusing_. And then she’d actually been _useful_. And then _too_ _fucking hot_, combined with easy to be around.

Clearly her dumbass sloppiness had been contagious. Jesus, he’d let shit escalate.

He hardened his mask, grinning mean. He felt nasty, but in that useful, thrilling way. Like he could do something awful and feel nothing but pleased.

“Are you a ghost?”

It was a dumb question, but at least it was dumb in the right direction.

But then she pinched her arm a couple of times, which didn’t even make _sense_, topping it off with some loud yelping, like her own fingers had come as a surprise.

Fucksake, he was starting to get a headache. His vision was straining from staring at her like she was a lunatic, and that shoe sure did seem to fit, making the pressure in his skull build and build.

She kept on coming towards him, not fast, and his eyes narrowed.

This… couldn’t be a ploy, could it? Act like a complete maniac to get near him and then – what? He didn’t think she had a gun hidden in them granny pyjamas. Kinda doubted she had a better right hook than him.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked, then swooped in to reach up and pinch _his fucking cheek_, like he was some adorable little kid.

No one had done that to him since – well, okay, it hadn’t actually been that long. But elderly relatives at a family BBQ didn’t really count, surely.

He pushed her hand away with a deliberate motion, not rough exactly but sure insistent.

Elizabeth didn’t seem to want to poke or prod at him again at least, hardly seemed to be presenting a threat. She seemed more than content to just stare.

Up close he got a proper look at what was going on with her. She still looked beautiful of course, and that was kinda irritating but at least it wasn’t unexpected. He’d steeled himself to not give a shit about that.

There were some signs of tiredness too though, which he greedily catalogued, trying to remain aloof. They didn’t tarnish her, just gave her a slightly melancholy air which he actually kinda dug. Tried to tell himself it was cos he’d wanted to see her freaked but hadn’t been doing too great a job of getting her there so far.

At least now, taking in those red-rimmed wide-blown eyes and the subtle scent, he had a good idea why.

“You stoned?”

“Nooooooo,” she protested, then giggled out a, “maybe?”

Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

One of his hands came up to rub over his forehead, then kneaded downwards over briefly closed eyes, the full length of his nose, finishing with a lengthy grab at his clenched jaw.

This was going just fucking splendid. He’d spunked his big reveal on her while she was probably too high to retain the memory.

Just. Just _fine_.

“Sit down.”

At least she was pliant like this, god. No argument, and he’d merely used the quiet firm voice he trotted out for Marcus and his little friends when they got a tad rowdy. Had barely even glared, too.

He poured her a large glass of water, for something to do mostly. It was ridiculous, he’d come to scare not take care of her. But he wanted her to at least remember his presence the next day.

As an afterthought he fixed himself a drink, a large pour of her disgusting cheap vodka, before knocking it back with a grimace.

Once he’d shoved the pint glass, none too gently, into her hand and mimed drinking up he asked, “What. The fuck?” How could he not.

Surprisingly, she seemed to understand the question. Or maybe it was the only thing her mind was stuck on.

She seemed comfortable sitting next to him, no more questions about whether he was a ghostly apparition, maybe she’d forgotten she’d ever been concerned over it.

“Annie made brownies,” she supplied, before lapsing back into laughter. Moisture was catching on her eyelashes and her baby blues were spilling too much brightness but he reminded himself that he didn’t care. Sure she was acting cutsie now, but she was impaired. Her real self held a lot more cruelty.

“She said I needed them because,” and then she drifted off and looked at him, _truly_ looked at him. He couldn’t decipher most of what was in it, and that was fine with him. Why bother.

But he understood the part that said she’d been through some shit lately. He wasn’t exactly her biggest fan, but he could begrudgingly accept it at least.

“Because. Stuff.”

He huffed and stood, busying himself with fetching another horrible drink. He didn’t need to see that whole, slow, parade strike across her face.

While his back was turned, Elizabeth piped up again. “She said to just have one. To put the rest in the fridge.”

Rio pulled a face. Great, he knew this game.

“How many you eat?”

“I was _hungry_.”

He turned to scowl at her, real fire in his eyes. What kind of stupid teenage bullshit was she riding? Hadn’t she got this nonsense out her system decades ago?

Or, maybe not. Maybe that’s why she got so excited over every crumb of crime. Repressed people had a tendency to go completely fucking bananas once they got a taste of rebellion.

Jesus, how’d he miss that? She’d always seemed _cool_. Well, not actually cool, obviously, she was about as uncool as they came, but frosty. Calm.

At least she could handle her liquor.

She squirmed a little under his gaze and it reminded him of – _Nah_. Not a good memory to revisit, not a smart place to go.

“Five,” she whispered.

_Oh for fuck_-

“Am I going to die?”

She looked so serious, so concerned, so _innocent_. And he just. He was out of practice at dealing with weeping women was what it was.

So that’s why he said, “Nah,” probably erring too gentle. But that hadn’t been enough, apparently, so he chucked in, “Worst that’ll happen is you get a real good sleep. Assuming they were cooked through.” He snickered a little to himself at that, the idea of her spending the night vomiting seemed close to karmic retribution.

She shook her head, and he was honestly getting close to the end of his rope. She had the thermostat up too high or her body heat was leaching feverishly into the air around them, some shit like that. This bizarre handholding session needed to be over now and-

  
“No, I mean. Are you going to kill me?”

Oh. Right. That actually made more sense.

Being stoned off your ass, convinced that someone with a legitimate motive was going to kill you didn’t sound that fun.

But she deserved what she got, right?

Rio just sighed. “We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah? And, oi, don’t eat any more of ‘em before I show!”

He shot her another death glare, long and hard, and tutted for good measure before making to head.

There, that had probably been all right under the circumstance. Not comforting, but not super tormenting neither.

God, what a shitshow. He had half a mind to demand his share of the brownies from her as he left. If anyone deserved to get out their head and forget their evening it was him.

Instead he made a mental note to stop at a convenience store on the drive home and pick up a pack of cigarettes. At least that was a naughty little extravagance that wouldn’t get him too stupid to cogitate.

Sometimes you just had to chalk something up as a disaster and move on. Tomorrow’d be a fresh fucking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title's from Life's A Bitch by Nas (you know the one that goes: life's a bitch and then you die, that's why we get high... yeah)


	2. lots of big money, and helping white people dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> take two!

He ended up round her place substantially earlier the next day than he had on the last.

Wasn’t like he was eager to see her, nothing like that, but the confrontation needed having. Rio wasn’t one for putting off a hard task.

And, truth be told, a teeny gnawing kernel of worry had wormed its way into his gut. What if he’d tipped his hand? What if she’d been inspired to leg it, or arm herself or, shit, get some back up? None of that seemed _too_ likely based on what he knew of her, and even he refused to believe she’d be dumb enough to try to turn him in again.

But she’d always been about as resourceful as she was reckless. Handing her ample time to stew probably wasn’t the safest option. So _that’s_ why he’d stomped over in the early afternoon, that was why he didn’t hold himself back once the idea became insistent earlier than he’d expected.

He hadn’t even been planning to let himself in through the front door really. He’d just been nosing, kinda idly, at the objects on her front porch as he psyched himself up for the task ahead. But the fucking spare key had still been in the exact same spot, hardly even hidden.

Honestly, her complete disregard for basic concepts had him half-minded to break in and rob her himself some day soon, just to teach her a goddamn lesson about security. Though, really, doing that kinda thing seemed a ways below his pay grade.

Maybe he’d find a way to whisper the suggestion to some low-level lackeys in search of a side hustle instead. The thought made him grin, sharp, had his front teeth grazing his lower lip. But then, thinking on it, she’d probably find some way to ruin it for ‘em, make it anything but worth their while.

He tried to picture the exact way she’d spoil it, rubbing at his chin. Elizabeth’d, what, emerge suddenly from the shower, stitch-less, distracting entirely with how flushed and damp she was, then smack ‘em over the head with a coupla frying pans or something when they weren’t paying attention.

Hmm, where the hell had _that_ image crawled up from? He tried to smooth it away, to clear out the creases in his mind. Infuriatingly, that wasn’t as easy as he’d like, as it shoulda been. His inner eye kept catching on that visual – acres of that soft skin, all warmed and wet.

That kinda shit was _not_ what he was there for, jesus. He inhaled, deep, through his nostrils. Got himself centred, checked for the comforting cool of his gun at his waistband for what felt like the millionth time that day, called to mind the memory of her putting that first bullet in him.

And then he let himself in, pocketing the spare key. Maybe it disappearing would be a better, safer, way to teach her to attend to the fundamentals of protecting her home. Be fairer than exposing anyone else to the many, many pitfalls of an acquaintance with her.

Just as he was finishing up getting the door shut again behind him, silent as, a loud ass crash sounded.

He didn’t rush over to check on it, on her, obviously. He just had long legs, right, moved fast. It was no thing to get over to the source of the noise, kitchenwards, quick. And it wasn’t like he _cared_, course not, but you didn’t get to where he was by not being cautious, by not checking a potential problem, by burying your head in the sand.

And Elizabeth was still pretty much an investment, even if she was also an absolute liability. The bare bones of professional courtesy might still linger, but he didn’t have a problem with that. For now, at least.

Smashed glass and running liquid decorated the floor. She was leaning, heavy, her back against the sink, effectively trapped by the mess she’d made with a dropped bottle, barefoot and looking down at her debris, face soaked with distress.

He didn’t think her unease was over his arrival necessarily, wasn’t even sure she’d registered his presence. The whole place _stank_ of booze, and he had a strong feeling not all of it had been wasted on the flooring.

It wasn’t until he started crunching his way up close that he saw any sign of recognition, she started twitching a little before her sights finally raised off the shambles below.

Once their eyes met, it was pretty obvious to him that, yeah, once again she was trashed. _Wonderful_. Her eyes looked kinda blank, proper dumb and distant, and she was all flushed. Not just her face neither, he could see splotches of pink down her neck and chest, down towards- and whatever, that wasn’t the important part.

“Hiiiii,” she drawled, raising her empty tumbler to him and pulling a frankly absurd face. One eye had narrowed to a mere point, the eyebrow over the other raising sharply, with her mouth pulled to the side as if in thought. She probably thought she looked distinguished or some shit, but he mostly thought she resembled a deranged cartoon rodent from some show his kid liked.

It wasn’t _hard_ not to laugh out loud, all this shit was way too frustrating, but the urge was admittedly there. He was only human after all.

“Thought I made it clear you was s’posed to be sober when I came back?”

His index finger jabbed around in the air near her face as he spoke. The tone of his voice was frosty, but inside he felt anything but calm. He hadn’t thought he actually needed to specify she shouldn’t liquor up past the point of sense neither, jeez.

Elizabeth just burped quietly, then looked around all shifty like he might not have clocked it, at that miniscule distance, in the weighted silence. Then she shrugged her shoulders, more than kinda despondent.

Well this was new. The number of times he’d wanted her to put up a little less fight was… not small. But seeing her all folded in on herself and sparkless – that shit was a little unnerving. Or, nah, maybe it was simply _pathetic_. He didn’t mind or whatever, just her weakness was disappointing, almost affronted him.

“Didn’t, didn’t know what time.”

She’d spoken so suddenly, voice box lurching into life and not sounding much used recently, the words slurring into what shoulda been the gaps between them. It startled him a little, in truth.

He regarded her, cool. He wanted to say something snappy, something dismissive. And while he thought his face was doing a good job of flying that flag, he held off on speaking right away. Cos she hadn’t known when he’d come by, but it looked a lot like instead of making one of her batshit plans or _leaving _she’d settled in to drink and wait for him.

But that was probably his fault, right. He’d given her a pass the night before for being too baked to see. So maybe this was her wildcard ploy – get so smashed again he wouldn’t proceed. Keep on delaying the inevitable.

She shifted a little against the sink, almost seemed to fumble. He shoved his arms behind him, and maybe that was a _little_ to make sure he didn’t reach out to steady her, fine. There was just so much broken glass on a slippery surface, his parent instincts were going wild – but it was just reflex.

She looked down at her toes, and practically whispered, so indistinct and drink-warped that for a second he wasn’t sure he’d heard right, “Don’t wanna be so happy you’re okay.”

And that cinched it for him, he had to be right about this bullshit. She was relying on his better angels, the idea that he even had any, taking pity on her. That had to be her gambit. And it was a fucking _stupid_ one.

“You can’t keep doing this!” he snapped.

And she had the audacity to nod along, looking mournful, which just pissed him off more, the suggestion of her agreeing or even understanding.

And he just. Just wanted this to be _done_. Didn’t wanna see her arms trembling as she tried to prop herself up still, wasn’t enjoying her dulled eyes, had had quite enough of watching frantic breaths ripple through her frame.

So he yanked her up bodily, hands on her denim-clad legs at first. He curled the top part of her over his shoulder and headed away, toward her bedroom.

He wouldn’t have a problem with watching a few shards of glass disappear into her foot, he told himself. He could probably stand to watch her slip and fall a time or two as well. There was nothing wrong with a little physical comedy. But she was still an asset, technically, even if she wasn’t acting like much of one. He probably oughta be invested in her ability to walk if he wanted her paying him back, with as much damn interest as he felt like demanding, and maybe making him a bunch more money too.

Her reaction to him carrying her was – well, she was drunk as all hell, what did it even matter, it probably wasn’t even indicative. But she hadn’t even stiffened up at first, like she hadn’t thought it weird, till one of his hands had had to move to her back. But then soon, too soon, she seemed content again, relaxing into his hold. He could tell she was crying slightly, though he wasn’t quite sure he could exactly name how he knew it. At least, surprisingly, she wasn’t making a big production of her tears.

Once he’d dragged her to her bedroom, Rio dropped her onto her mattress, and not gently. The noise it made when she landed and bounced almost made him grimace. Not that he cared if she ended up in a bit of pain after this, nah that’d be a bonus, just it reminded him of his uncle who’d had all them back problems – that shit had been no joke. But she’d pushed all them children out, right, and for certain never had no fucking problem standing up to him. He didn’t need to worry about her, she was strong. Not that he was inclined to any concern for her.

“Sleep it off,” he told her, gruff. “And then no more of this bullshit, yeah?”

He thought she nodded, but maybe she was just settling. Elizabeth went out, fast, fully dressed and still on top of the covers.

He watched a moment, just to make sure she wasn’t gonna puke in her sleep or wake up immediately to start raving, or some nonsense like that.

And then he… well, he wasn’t too sure what to do.

The kitchen seemed a reasonable place to wander to, and he figured he might as well sweep and soak up the mess a little while he mused. Tidying was prime thinking time, your mind could wander while your hands worked by rote. And he didn’t actually know where her kids were, but assumedly they’d come home at some point. Didn’t need any of the bunch falling into a pile of glass.

The remnants of the shattered bottle, the bits of label he clocked, looked kinda familiar, like that bourbon he’d left for her in the storage unit ages back. It couldn’t be the same bottle though, could it?

That tempted him into looking around some, might as well go through her cupboards and whatnot while he was there, no idea what of interest could be turned up. He did find a couple of bottles of the good stuff in the back, secreted away unlike the nasty spirits she left out for guests – god she was such a cheat, and poured himself a drink which he polished off leisurely.

Then he figured he may as well go fuller hog, and began combing through the other rooms, observing and calculating. He didn’t see many signs of her idiot husband anywhere. Not that he was fussed one way or the other over the state of her marriage, but he didn’t trust that slimy lunk anywhere around his money, so it was a little cheering.

It could be useful to have a proper idea of what was going on with her. Maybe he shoulda asked his boys for the lowdown in a more general sense. Not just barked real specific questions, uninterested in superfluous deets, laser focussed on when she’d be home alone.

Something in him wanted to scuff stuff up. To empty her drawers out, or punch a hole in at least one wall. Unused adrenaline had soured within his body. And he needed her to know – that he’d been here, and motherfucking enraged, and that they weren’t doing this again. The next time he came round she was gonna be capable of hearing him.

He could wake her back up, he supposed, and get to yelling. But he doubted she’d take it in. She’d seemed wasted, utterly wrecked.

He settled on an idea, and it was kinda lame, but then so was she – constantly picking up aspects of his personality like they were gimmicks she could try on, like she ain’t really have one of her own. He’d write her a note, make it real pissy, imbue it with enough threat to scare her straight.

He considered lipstick on her mirror, for just a mo, but that seemed a bite too teenybopper. Then he remembered he’d found stacks and stacks of those extra sticky sticky notes, the ones he liked, in a cabinet. That’d do.

He took his time writing it out, trying to keep it legible. Marcus had been bitching about daddy’s horrible handwriting lately so he’d been making an effort to form his letters clearer anyway. It was the same message, written out all blocky, again and again.

Rio did stick a couple to her bedroom mirror, then pressed one hard against her right palm without her so much as stirring. Another was placed against her throat, and the last stuck, real firm, to her forehead. He smirked as he pushed that final one down, amused by the idea of her having to rip it away from the skin there when she woke up.

He swiped a bottle of the good bourbon and the remainders of the brownies (sourced from his digging around in her fridge) before he left, snickering softly. He was pretty pleased with his message, figured it’d do the trick, ‘IF YOU SMACKED OUT OR WHATEVER TOMO IMMA BURY YOU ALIVE’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Alcohol by Brad Paisley (if you think Rio doesn't have occasionally kinda trash taste in music, you're wrong)


	3. don’t need you coughing, when offing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third time's the charm?

He couldn’t make it round till late, well after midnight, the following night.

He’d had a rough day, the Turner sitch had created more than a few loose ends in need of tying off. And, yeah, maybe he’d stopped off for a beer or two en route. Those last coupla run ins with Elizabeth hadn’t exactly invited the impression that any more time with her’d be anywhere close to _relaxing_.

There was shit he wanted off his mind, off his shoulders too, just _off_ him, before he had to deal with any more of her nonsense.

He didn’t think he’d been loud or nothing, but she’d clocked him coming somehow. Maybe she’d been watching out for his arrival, cos she had the backdoor opening for him almost as he’d reached it.

She didn’t have too many lights on inside, and maybe that was on purpose, but it didn’t much matter. He could’ve spotted how jittery she was being from several fucking miles away with much worse visibility.

And that weren’t only down to the way she fairly _jumped_ out his way when he moved to enter the place. She was fidgety as _fuck _with her eyes darting all over, like she was tracking an invisible killer bee or some shit.

He sighed, letting it sound out exactly as loud as he felt it inside, something he tried to hold himself back from in plenty situations.

“Right,” Rio said, with an exaggerated head movement and dangerously fake smile, “wassit this time then? Coke? Speed? Meth?”

Ugh, that last suggestion sent him down a furious thought-path. If she’d started binging _Breaking Bad_, and he was gonna have to listen to one more dumb set of opinions on Walter White he really might have to start spraying bullets. Like, yeah he hadn’t watched that much of it but anything that got a bunch of people all singing praises from the exact same hymnal had to be treated as dubious, and that was only the beginning of his list of gripes.

She rounded on him, face landing halfway between incensed and appalled, like that weren’t the _exact_ kinda shit he oughta be expecting after the stunts she’d pulled the last two days.

He tried to make sure precisely how much sense that made was painted across his features, flicking his wrist so his hand splayed, thumb and first finger pointing sharp.

She scuttled back, first off, putting distance between them. As if he gave a shit they’d ended up so close. Like, yeah, she’d shot him and he was definitely staying mad over it, but he wasn’t gonna go round being scared of her shadow or nothing. She weren’t exactly intimidating at her best, and this was hardly her on top of her game.

But maybe she did get it, what he’d meant, cos she eventually rushed out without further prompting, “I may’ve had a little too much coffee.”

“That shit’ll kill you.”

He hadn’t thought about saying it, it had just rolled out by rote, the beginnings of a lecture he’d made maybe too many times. His boys had started teasing him about it, but he’d done his research, watched them docs, knew his stuff. There was nothing like getting shot a bunch to make a man really start thinking on his health, after all.

She blinked a few times, like that’d make her mind work better, then her eyes widened impossibly huge. He didn’t remember them looking quite that way ever before, taking up fully half her face.

“If I’m,” she began, sounding real unsure, “… in the market for a nutritionist, I’ll let you know?”

He just exhaled heavy through his nose, not really a sigh, and rolled his eyes away from her, playing it off. Not much skin off his nose if she took herself out with a mundane as hell method anyway.

“Sooo,” she said, blatantly trying to slip on a mask of normalcy. It wasn’t very successful, given she still seemed jumpy as fuck, hands shaking and jaw all twitchy – a smile trying to form but giving up before it could settle. “What brings you round?”

He didn’t know if she was tryna be funny, or attempting to wrap herself in a protective bubble of naivete. He _almost_ wanted to laugh. Or... Or maybe engage in some primal scream therapy. Or grab her by the shoulders to shake and shake and shake.

Her acting like the last few days, the last few months in fact, hadn’t happened was _not_ gonna make it so. He got the feeling this was her usual MO; that this typa BS had worked for her in the past. Maybe that’s how Elizabeth and her dumbass hubby pushed their shit under the rug, but it wasn’t gonna fly with him.

He didn’t often find himself at a loss for words, though he knew how to be a man of few, but he wasn’t even sure where to _begin_ with this garbage.

Still, he didn’t gape or nothing, kept it from being obvious. Twisted his energy into glaring her down, making it her problem. It didn’t take her long to break – that bubbling caffeine, if that really was all she’d had, keeping her helpfully edgy as all hell.

“I’m-” she started with, shifting restless and refusing to meet his eyes. Her lips fluttered around a sound, something sibilant, before she seemed to change direction. “I shot you.”

“Oh shit,” he said immediately, letting the sarcasm ooze cos at least that was easy, familiar, “that was you?”

His face was ready for when she looked up at him, eyes popped huge and lower lip jutting a little, the perfect picture of innocence.

He’d learnt that from his mother, how to call someone an idiot without ever having to say the word. He’d worn that scornful skill with pride as a surly child, and it had wrapped round him almost a second skin as he’d beanpoled and blossomed. Pretty much nobody’d wanted to fuck with the skinny kid who’d mastered that trick in tandem with the other, even harsher ones, stuffed up his sleeves.

He caught some motion of her eyes, what coulda been some petulant rolling, but the movement was so slight that he decided not to call her on it. This time.

“You got your dealership back from the feds yet?” He asked it, though of course he knew the answer already. Wanted to see if she’d tell the truth, for a change.

She nodded, though she looked confused, like she thought he’d want to harp on the shooting some more. She really didn’t seem the smartest cookie in the jar sometimes. At least she wasn’t lying; colour him gobsmacked.

“And what’s the sitch? Carman back in charge?”

Elizabeth smiled proper at that, which he hadn’t really been expecting, though there seemed to be a wry twist to it.

Then she abruptly wandered away to the kitchen and over to the pot, went and poured herself another cup of coffee. That had him seeing red, trailing at a short distance. It took no time at all to stalk over and grab it out her hand. There’d been enough slip ups on the way to their precariously hanging conversation and she seemed quite frenzied enough, for sure didn’t need any more fuel.

He took a sip, staking his claim and her clear lack of one, but couldn’t prevent himself from pulling a face after. It tasted godawful. Worse than her cheapass vodka, even.

“Thought you said that stuff was bad for you!” She was kinda manic and all but crowing, like she’d caught him in a lie. As if that was something he’d ever cared about.

“I ain’t already had fifteen.”

She looked like she was gearing up to argue, and he was tempted to just walk the fuck out, maybe smash the mug on the way just to rid the world of the horrible flavour it held. This over-caffeinated version of her was presenting too much of a headache after the unmitigated trash of a day he’d had. Maybe it was time to call it quits, write off her debt as a loss and let Turner have at her.

But then she just sniffed, busied herself with grabbing a glass and pouring a generous helping of bourbon instead before sliding the bottle nearer him. He took it gladly, diluting the appalling coffee before taking a tentative swallow. It was a definite improvement.

It felt instantly a little conspiratorial, drinking together in the dark of her kitchen. Which was kinda funny, if you considered all the conspiring they’d _actually_ done in their time. He wasn’t sure he approved of the sense of almost camaraderie, didn’t feel like something he oughta allow.

“My _ex_-husband and I co-own the dealership, as _equal_ partners.”

And, yeah, he could hear where she was shoving the emphasis in there just fine. She’d always been so unreasonably _loud_ with her signalling. Maybe there was something comforting to how that hadn’t changed none.

“He’s more of a… silent partner these days though.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

She had a face on that told him she might wanna say more, but then clamped her lips together, right tight. It’d be a lie to say he weren’t a teeny bit curious, but he hadn’t come round to gossip and braid her hair so he didn’t dig.

“Cool, so ain’t gonna be any trouble getting up and running again, yeah?”

She gawked at him.

“Remember the pills?” he asked, a little extra irritable. She hadn’t scrambled her brains that much, had she? “Might be some other stuff too, you don’t need to worry about what’s in the cars. Just take ‘em, then move ‘em.”

“But – but Turner!”

“How ‘bout you leave him to me. You handling him weren’t exactly… productive.”

She blushed bright fucking crimson, it was clear even in the gloom. She was acting like he’d landed some low blow, which he hadn’t – had simply reported a fact, though he had plenty of them ready to go.

She still seemed way too restless, acting sketchy. Gaze totally unsettled, and practically her whole body fidgety. And he’d’ve sworn he could actually _hear_ the cogs in her head grinding into gear.

“How do I know the two of you aren’t working together, setting me up?” she asked, shoulders spasming a shade with the question.

He drew himself up properly, rolling his shoulders once, and stared her down.

“Guess you don’t.”

And, ah, fucking with her had always been a little too fun. She kept on rewarding his efforts with such delicious naked fear. He didn’t think it’d last long, sure she’d try to claw her way back to equal footing. But for now he let himself enjoy it, drank it in as part of the payback.

“And I’m renegotiating terms, not a 50/50 split on that no more. I’m thinking – 80,” he pointed deliberately at his own chest, “20”, he added with a dismissive wave in her direction.

A few expressions coiled across her face with comical haste – confusion, outrage, rabid _offence_.

“Don’t you think a little more incentive for me would-”

But he didn’t let her finish, pushed way back into her space, cos it didn’t bother him _at all_ being there, to interrupt as he scowled.

“The incentive’s that you and yours get to keep breathing.”

He said it soft, soft in that way that captured attention and wouldn’t let it go. He’d learnt that from his father, how to command focus without even raising your voice.

After an entranced pause she swallowed then nodded, too eagerly, too desperately. Finally something was going easy, and he hadn’t even needed a tire iron.

He could _feel_ that hyper energy just springing its way outta her. And that’s why he stepped away, pretending to peruse the shit on the counter. He didn’t wanna get caught up in that, had no need to be bouncing off the walls himself.

But then she started speaking again, so he turned to look at her. He wasn’t _rude_. Her voice was real small and cautious, but the words were definitely falling way too fast still. “The smaller my share is, the longer it’ll take to pay you back.”

He half-shrugged, lips pursed and eyebrows high cos, _uh huh_. She was greedy, specially after a taste of the high life. But he didn’t really fault her for that. Figured he wouldn’t let on he realised she was up to her other shit yet. Might be some benefit to letting her think she was slick, cocky people slipped up. And if she worked out he knew, offered up that info herself, he’d be impressed. Might not even give her too much trouble over it.

She looked away then back to him, fast. “I can’t owe you _forever_. Isn’t there something, anything, else I can do?”

And the thing is, he didn’t think she meant it like _that_. At least probably not, wasn’t too wise to put anything past her. But in the dim light, with her blinking and pouting up at him, sounding all plaintive and being a clear twisted up bundle of nerves – she had to know how that _sounded_.

It wasn’t no problem. He could play it off as though it did absolutely nothing for him, the idea didn’t go straight to his- and whatever, never mind. _Specifics _weren’t the point. Maybe keeping a front up wouldn’t make it entirely so, but she didn’t need to know it.

She seemed to clock it a few seconds after him, the implication she’d set hovering, going her reddest yet. He wasn’t sure if she’d got there from his well-crafted look of sneering indifference, or if her brain had just caught up to her too-speedy trap.

That mouth opened wider than even her eyes, tongue darting around in a stuttering path that almost suggested she was searching for some secret way to lick the words back outta existence.

He decided to give her an out for once. Watching her flail was an entertaining diversion, but even he had his limits, and he wasn’t sure eyeballing her quivering lips for ages was the best use of his time. It might give her ideas, and he didn’t think she needed even one more of those.

“Upping the workload, gonna be a bigger distro system.” He said it casual, like nothing weird had happened in the interim, like she hadn’t just been basically vibrating with mortification.

“Oh,” she said, sounding numb, “okay.”

“Gonna be making money hand over fist,” he said with a wide grin. “At least, I will.”

And then he bopped, heading for the backdoor again.

“Wait!” she called out, and when he looked behind he saw she’d followed along, a hand outstretched in a way that indicated she’d been ready to grab at him or some shit if he hadn’t paused.

He tutted, but tilted his head, implying she should get it out.

“I don’t have your number. If- well, if something comes up.”

And maybe she’d just guessed he had a new one. But something about the way she’d phrased it, something in how she was steadily avoiding looking at him again, made him doubt that. Had she actually tried to get in contact with him at some point over the last few days?

God, she was an absolute _riot_.

“Yeah and you not getting it. Don’t need my inbox filled on the daily.”

At least she had the decency to look properly ashamed at that reminder. Appeared she knew over-eagerness, if not attempted murder of a partner, for a cardinal sin.

“But how am I supposed to-”

“Something comes up, handle it. I’ll be in touch.” He said it firm, as if all the deets were already ironed out. She didn’t need to know about all the intricate moving parts he had to deal with now, wasn’t any of her business was it.

And then he hightailed it, not eager to get dragged into any more pointless conversation, or her demanding questions. More than ready for silence and bed.

It had gone better, though not perfect, this time. He’d intimidated her right finally, and got the ball rolling. Maybe it was just the hangover from it going completely wrong twice, and her annoying twitchiness robbing him of some of the proper responses he’d been after, but he didn’t feel that much more satisfied by this interaction after all was said and done.

Though he was pretty sure he’d be feeling just fucking dandy once his money started rolling in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Coffee by Aesop Rock, which somewhat randomly features Mr Mountain Goat, John Darnielle (one of those pairings that sounds like it makes little sense but once you get a taste of it you're like, um more please thanks).
> 
> Also I guess future content warning for some potential actual plot, ha! But I don't think the tone should change much because the interactions between these two maniacs Stay hilarious ;)


	4. see the signs, but you can’t read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude-esque: Rio dreams about Beth and it gets him, you guessed it, cranky! Though also a little introspective. But mostly cranky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bumping the rating to M because there's some sexual stuff in this chapter (and also thinking about it, thematically there's, duh, quite a bit of drugs and alcohol in the whole thing; I dunno ratings are confusing).

He dreamt of her that night. He’d been looking for the sweet oblivion of sleep, its healing powers, after a whole bunch of tribulations.

Instead he woke up annoyed as all fuck.

Wasn’t it enough that she got to madden up his waking hours? Did she really need to ruin his unconscious ones too? Hadn’t she taken enough from him?

It was… _annoying_. His teeth ground against each other as he sought a more articulate, more fitting, phrasing. Shit, maybe he did need to expand his vocabulary, get one of them word a day calendars or whatever. Marcus had already banned him from saying ‘nice’, after an over-zealous teacher had railed against the term. Rio had tried to explain to his son that words had precise meanings, synonyms didn’t always overlap, not everything in this world could be magnificent or fabulous. Some shit was just cool, simply nice.

And- and it was no use, he couldn’t distract himself from how it, how she, had wound him up so good. Tension had spread its poison throughout his entire musculature.

Rio’s head fell back against his pillow, his eyes shut tight, as he groused.

Thing was, he’d never intended to mix business with pleasure, wasn’t meant to be in this damn mess. He knew better, and not just cos the majority of his associates were giant men with facial tattoos. Not exactly his type.

When Elizabeth had crashed into his life he’d thought about it, sure, dabbled in fantasies. But that was all they were supposed to be. He’d never thought anything was actually gonna come of it. She was married, and uptight as a flagpole, and anyway she _worked_ for him.

Which meant he’d have to keep seeing her, or otherwise cut her loose, after – _if_. And what if she’d been weird about it? Gotten obsessed or otherwise sad, not wanting to see him again? He’d _liked_ working with her, mostly, wasn’t sure something fleeting was worth risking that, and the bundles of money she was making him, over.

And, yeah, okay. So their meets had somehow drifted from parks and food courts to cafes and bars. And as time went on, they’d both started turning up alone to those more frequently. Like maybe they were both a little open to seeing how the conversation’d go without chaperones.

Cos they were a packet similar, underneath, in addition to their obvious differences. And so it was interesting. Exploring what flowed. Money-making musings, not just idle chat. And he’d found her kinda funny, had always enjoyed a good laugh.

And he’d _never_ fucking pushed it, not even thought for long about making a real move. Sure, he’d patted her arm or back, allowed their knees or hands to brush on occasion. Just enough to demonstrate he wasn’t appalled by the idea of her touch.

She’d never pulled away, never commented neither, but also hadn't reciprocated at all. And maybe… Maybe it didn’t have all that much to do with being a gentleman but over the years he’d learnt to let women come to him. Cos they didn’t always do that with guys too often. So if a woman felt _comfortable _enough, _wanted_ him that much it’d end up being well worth the wait.

He’d always let his eyes linger over her form, not stopped himself from peppering his speech with pet names for her. And she’d never seemed to mind any of that, but she played her cards close to the chest in general. There’d been definite heat between them, he’d never truly managed to convince himself that was all in his head.

And sometimes the way that she beamed up at him when he said something nice to her, or taught her a fresh lesson; the moments where she copied him so faithfully, so seriously; that time he'd teased her, a minuscule amount, when he'd suggested she cover for them with Turner by saying they'd been hooking up – he could’ve sworn that she– but. Nah.

Well he’d shoved it down back then too, till after she’d thrown them keys in his face and he’d been _livid_. Then she’d helped in getting him locked up, and he’d still been furious but also kinda baffled. He’d been the one disrespected, she didn’t have some fresh cut on _her_ face, if one of them was gonna be mad it hadn’t felt as if she had the moral high ground.

But then he’d remembered she thought he was gonna kill her over it, though he’d kinda doubted that had been her _sole_ motivation even back then. The idea that he’d been going to take her out, for knowing a teeny slice of his operations and pushing him too far over an empty van had been kinda laughable.

He’d got out fast, it paid to have a lawyer like Gretchen, but it had still fucking rankled. And he’d stormed over to her place to – well he hadn’t been sure what exactly he wanted to do at the time. Until he’d found her dimwitted husband, and that moron had made _such _a cathartic punching bag. By the time Elizabeth had turned up, Rio’d been in a splendid fucking mood, the adrenaline he’d been pumped full of put to good use and transformed into something quite different.

And perhaps that was how that dam had burst some that night, because he couldn’t seem to stop touching her after that. She’d just been so appallingly _open_ with him, and he’d shot her husband and she hadn’t _stopped_ doing it. It had started as almost staking a claim, and he wasn’t sure it hadn’t continued on that way too.

He’d fallen to trusting her some, and that had been the big mistake. He shoulda known it after she got him locked up, jesus, but that had read kinda _sweet_ in a misguided way. Her self-importance and her almost obsession with him.

Musta been an idiot to believe she’d attended to the task at hand, killed the dude when she said she had. He’d genuinely thought she’d found out more about her capacities. That she was ready to _learn_, to listen.

Well, even so he hadn’t been the one to fucking push it – she had. And what was he supposed to do in that situation, huh? Yeah, he’d followed her to that bathroom, okay. But she’d led him there and he didn’t know for sure it wasn’t for a conversation, something about work, away from prying eyes. Though even as he’d tried to convince himself of that as he trailed behind he’d been thinking, kinda vague, that they did both have phones but…

But, whatever. In he’d gone and then – and then. The way she let him mould her position over that sink; how she’d moaned for him; Elizabeth straight up _melting_ against him once he’d got her pinned on him up that wall; the feel of her clenching around him each time he muttered curses near her ear… It mighta all been a bit too addicting.

Though that had all been built on bullshit, hadn’t it. Cos she hadn’t really done what she said, hadn’t dealt with their problem. It had been a farewell of sorts from her. He realised afterwards, far too late, the fact she actually thought he was out – that the money hadn’t been a sort of test – shoulda been treated like a big ol’ neon warning sign. She was so short-sighted, couldn’t glean much past the nose on her face.

The next time it happened, that absurdly tender series he wanted to blot out all memory of, in her bedroom – that had been a goodbye from her too. Even if he still wasn’t sure exactly why, that much had been clear after. But he’d fallen for it again, like an absolute fucking chump.

She’d been sad for days before, aching for comfort. He’d tried not to impose. But she’d lured him to her bedroom, and then they’d been kissing somehow like tentative teens and he’d just thought – what the hell. She was so desperate for his touch and he liked bestowing it upon her and it wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before anyway. Only they hadn’t exactly, cos it had been more rushed, less naked in that bathroom – but, still. And it wasn’t like he was in love with her or nothing, wasn’t gonna get his heart broken whatever happened.

But then in the _immediate_ afterglow she’d unceremoniously dismissed him from her bed, and her life. With an extra giant fuck you in the form of his money on the nightstand. Elizabeth’d acted like she could just be out at her say-so, like that was the way the biz worked – which was, like, insultingly silly.

And, whatever. He’d’ve left it, probably. If her idiot amateur crew hadn’t fucked him over, apparently turning into headless chickens outside her supervision for even a minute or two. And he’d kept it pretty professional, even when she’d spent a day stalking him and broke into his home. After she’d filled his phone with pleas, and let him punch at her boastful buttons by asking if she was just work.

Past her dropping that giant bomb, that the witness was still breathing, that she’d messed up, that she’d lied to him over and over – she still begged so pretty for his help. But he’d had to look out for himself, that hadn’t been the only thing exploded, the feds had been onto his money. And besides, she needed to _learn_.

She’d ended up wriggling outta the murder charge, and Turner’s grasp at least a moment, and Rio’d found himself still feeling kinda proud over her – much as she’d messed up. She deserved a small reward, and someone still needed to teach her _plenty_, so he’d figured he might as well combine the two.

Perhaps after all he’d been a touch too pissed at her still to be thinking totally clear, and not entirely sober. But he’d had a solid plan that shoulda worked!

Until she scuffed the whole thing up. Put three bullets in his goddamn chest, chose Turner over him. And he hadn’t seen it coming, fool that he’d been. He’d trusted her – despite every warning sign, not to mention how often he counselled her against that exact same fuck up. She must have _hated_ him. He couldn’t seem to get that to track based on all that had come before but -

Well, she musta been using him, hoping to tug on his heartstrings for future protection, the whole time. Or something had dramatically shifted. Whatever. It didn’t much matter now, in the aftermath. He didn’t want her no more. Had access to a vast reservoir of loathing. Her punishment mighta been put off, but it’d come – and he’d be the one handing it over.

And the dream was just- Her fault, to start with. Every detail hadn’t been like the night before, some stuff had fluctuated. She’d been sitting on the couch in her living room, which was kinda weird cos he didn’t think he’d ever seen her on the thing. Which hadn’t stopped him picturing it perfect in his mind. And she’d been wearing one of her pretty dresses instead, kinda thing he’d only seen her in rarely.

The words, the tone, her expression – that had all been the same.

_Isn’t there something, anything, else I can do?_

Hope and fluttering lashes, pouty lips and nerves. And then somehow they’d been kissing. And he’d thought, how sometimes a person did in a dream - clear and fuzzy all together, fuck it. She’s so desperate for my touch and I like- I like.

And then he’d woken up, coming to consciousness confusingly quick. He’d been _grumpy_, fine, the whole thing needled at him, made him feel put together wrong. But he’d also been irrefutably turned on.

And he’d rationalised: it doesn’t matter, it’s pure _fantasy_. Same way he had back in the day, before anything had happened, when they’d only just met really, prior to all the proper complicated shit that bloomed between them. Mighta been wrong then, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be right finally.

He reached back to those earlier daydreams, from when he hadn’t known her too well. Before he found that he’d always be letting her lead their way, never wanting the version of him that needed to intimidate her to be a part of their sexual encounters.

They’d all tended to start off the same typa way. Her mouthing off at him over something, didn’t matter what, and him leading her down towards him – her mouth maybe, or her hips. And _that_ shut her up.

_Yeah_. So what if it felt a little foreign, a little wrong. Thinking about her like that, letting her in his head at all really with a hand wrapped round himself. Didn’t resemble_ terrible_ by a long shot.

It played out kinda the same, like all them classic ones had, her moaning and groaning, just so fucking _into_ it. Dazed like she’d needed it, needed it a long time. As if she wouldn’t be wound so tight if she coulda had the option.

Jesus he’d been right about that, hadn’t known quite how goddamn correct till she’d got him into that bathroom and – ah.

Well letting his mind drift back there wasn’t too much worse than remembering the way he’d pictured her needy and whining for him before he’d had the real deal. Wasn’t far off it neither, just better. And _true_. It had actually happened after all, even if everything had got too fucked up later. Couldn’t be erased.

As he stroked he tried to focus in on how impossibly sopping she’d been the first time he’d touched her, the way she’d presented herself to him like a prize. That sound as he’d snapped her panties off and how she hadn’t seemed to mind an iota, not said anything when he’d pocketed them after neither. The gasp she’d let out when he spun her around, and how she’d made that noise again but so much louder when he hiked her up against the wall. That erratic way she’d whispered in his ear, begging him to come inside her at the end, not that he was completely sure he’d been capable of any other choice in the moment.

And it was just – mm. Only fodder now, right. He knew, in retrospect, it hadn’t really meant anything, even if back then everything had felt full of promise. But the recollection still burnt hot and dazzling. And he- And he- And.

After he came down, cleaned up haphazardly, Rio cursed himself – but only a little. He could put that shit away, lock it back in its box. He was a pro.

They were just fragments, flashbacks. Overshadowed by a bigger remembrance – the one where she shot him, thrice. He was never gonna forget that, nor forgive it.

When his gaze fell upon his bedside table, taking in that dumb mug he’d apparently carried all the way home from hers unthinking, Rio let out an involuntary groan. A hand scrubbed over his face, pinched at the hollows below his eyes as he inhaled sharp through his nose.

Whatever. He wasn’t gonna go return it, nothing asinine like that. A mug was the least she owed him after all. Maybe it could be a badge of honour, a mark of him reclaiming his shit from her that he could display with pride. Even if it did have ‘World’s Best Mom’ emblazoned on it with a terrible quality photo of her printed on the side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer cos I'm cheeeeeeeeeesy. But! So too is Mr 'What's in the boxxxx', 'honey I'm home', 'don't give a damn if you try, you gotta win' etc!! #fuckingdork


	5. must overcome the need to define, the solitary silence of a faceless crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth's fairly compos mentis! This is also extremely irritating to Rio.

By the next time he crept in via her front door he was still in possession of the key he’d _barely_ jacked, and the lock was very much not changed. Shit, had she not even _noticed_ it was missing?

He had a fairly good sense of her schedule. Her idiot husband – or, well former, but what did that even matter – didn’t live there no more, and the children shuttled back and forth between their two homes with unremarkable regularity. And he knew it wasn’t one of her weeks with the kids.

He’d not bothered to have his boys keep watch on her comings and goings so much, now he knew what was up. So he hadn’t specifically made sure she’d be alone. He’d assumed it – and based on his past few visits it wasn’t an unreasonable guess. But assumptions, especially over her, weren’t exactly _smart_.

There were a coupla other voices mixing with Elizabeth’s, sounding from her kitchen. Those other ones didn’t sound hostile exactly, but he got a little closer to observe whatever was going on. The interlopers turned out to just be her sister and that friend. As he loitered he realised they were ragging on Beth, calling her out for doing something stupid.

He lingered a while, just out of view. It had him grinning – and wide too – real fast, was like listening to an especially soothing song. Even if their tone coulda done with being a pinch or ten harsher. But the longer it went, the clearer it became that while her kid sister was mostly laying into Elizabeth for being impulsive and lacking follow through (shit he heartily agreed with), the other one seemed focussed on something different. About _him_, though she kept referring to him as ‘Gang friend’, which had Rio close to snorting. How working with him’d be dangerous for Elizabeth, how he got her all vulnerable and shit.

He started feeling – not _wrong_ about it. He had nothing against eavesdropping, long as he was the one doing it. Just – this was turning unproductive. That chick clearly had the incorrect end, maybe not even the right stick. No matter Elizabeth’s voluble denials, which had him wanting to yell in triumphant agreement – and anything that had him yearning to back her up oughtn’t be prodded with a bargepole, the chick just kept on looking at Elizabeth kinda pitying and disbelieving.

It was obviously getting under Elizabeth’s skin, and that was entertaining no doubt, but still. Not what he’d come for. He decided to be magnanimous, do her a great favour.

So he bust on in, with a cheery, “Afternoon, ladies,” just as lil sis was starting up on some other point.

That earned him a couple screams in pleasing stereo, courtesy of the other two, but only a stony stare from Elizabeth, once she’d bothered to raise her eyes from her phone.

Shit, that was disappointing. And not a good sign. Scared was where he wanted her. The other two? No shits given really. They’d never shot him.

So it was probably a good thing he’d been giving it thought lately, running through her leftovers, minus the pearls he’d already returned. The nagging problem was that most of them – except maybe the key, that ugly as sin mug, and the bullets she put in him – had at least mildly sexual connotations. He wasn’t eager to pull things thataway, unlikely to lead anywhere good.

So he’d been wobbling on whether to start in on something else. He wasn’t giving up the key, not till the lock changed anyway. He could make a copy, but that just sounded like hassle. And he’d kept the mug, although he’d vowed to himself to make sure it was hidden whenever Steffi dropped Marcus round. Didn’t need his ex-wife teasing, or accusing him of being a self-important narcissist – which he hadn’t heard from her in a while actually, depending on her mood.

The bullets might not be a terrible tool. But it felt like they could land a ways too threatening, or maybe guilt-trippy. Neither of which’d necessarily meld well with a trashed Elizabeth. Ugh, manipulating her, backing her into metaphorical corners, all of that had gone so much smoother when she’d had her head vaguely on. Had been a lot more entertaining too.

And actually the other idea, the one he’d settled on, might play better with their surprise audience. Throw her just off-kilter enough, have her fluttering into obedience.

“Can I help you?” she asked prim, after locking her phone and dropping it to the counter.

His eyes swept over a few bottles of definitely cheap prosecco – well at least if she refused to shell out for the good stuff, that’d just taste overly-sweet rather than offensively disgusting like the majority of her other ill-advised drink purchases. There were cartons of OJ too, and an array of sugary snacks. Merely looking at the collection made his teeth hurt.

She seemed in control though, not wasted. For once. Had they only just started? He wasn’t _disappointed_. Only – it was a change. It’d take a second to get used to. She’d been all over the shop the last few times he’d seen her. And alone. Every single moment they’d spent together past the shooting, it had simply been the pair of them.

“Thought you might want this back.”

Her gaze dropped to his empty hands, maybe lingered a little too long but she coulda been checking for a weapon. She tracked his hand disappearing into a pocket and lifting out a scrap of material, before he chucked it towards her.

One of her hands whipped out, plucking it from the air.

He was a little impressed by her quick reflexes, couldn’t deny it. But maybe it wasn’t so surprising, she’d probably put in four times his hours at playing catch, right. And besides, it shoulda been burnt into his brain by now: expect literally anything at any time from that bitch.

She made the mistake of unbunching it, revealing what it was. That got her an instant outraged question from one of her girls.

“Please tell me you didn’t-”

But she shut it down, snap, with an icy glare. Seemed she was playing the boss again.

They weren’t the ripped pair from the bathroom, but the panties he’d only _sorta_ bribed outta her. Back when her dumb as shit spouse – ex, technically, but that could barely be described as relevant so he didn’t know why his brain felt the need to supply the dull intel – had tried to put out a hit on him. Him! Nah, it was still too damn funny, and Rio had to bite back a smirk at the memory. It wasn’t just the stupidity of the attempt neither. Cos it had got Dean-o trussed up, one of Elizabeth’s thongs shoved in his mouth as a gag. Ha!

So he’d been cackling over it, after Elizabeth’d told him, sitting on her picnic bench. And then she’d told him off for saying ‘panties’, which hadn’t felt all too reasonable. It wasn’t liked he’d wandered up and asked what she had on under her clothes or nothing, she’d been the one who brought it up, alluding and gesturing in a way that was _far_ more suggestive.

He’d promised to stop saying it, after they’d bantered a while across a coupla topics, if she forked them over. Only fair, right? He’d just about been murdered, in a way, he’d argued – not that he could keep his face straight as he bargained. He hadn’t been asking cos they were hers. Not really, anyway. He already had some of her accoutrements - and she knew it too. More wanted a memento of the way the universe had delivered Dean that delicious instant karma.

She’d given him such a hard look, lines he didn’t often see coming to prominence round the corners of her mouth and eyes. He’d been certain she was going to refuse, and didn’t much mind. He’d been half-joking, it had been a mere passing wish. But then she’d shrugged like: fine, _whatever_. Disappeared into the house to drop her mug into the sink first, then rambled into her bedroom.

Elizabeth’d reappeared after a few minutes, came up to him with some hesitance. Hadn’t been able to look at him, squinted up at the sky as she handed him something – he knew what – wrapped in tissue paper or some such.

He’d smirked at her, moved his head till he got her looking at him, maybe made it too sly, before slipping the gift into a pocket. Then he’d cleared his face up, got it looking all sweet.

Said, “Underwear,” serenely, instead of ‘thanks’.

And she’d said, “Would you please leave my house now?”, even though they’d been outside on the lawn. It’d been in a tone, and with a smile, that made it seem a lot more like it meant ‘do you want to come in?’.

But he’d had somewhere he needed to be, and had been wary of being at her beck and call in every arena. Especially after she’d turned down his offer of dealing with them petty thieves. So he’d simply returned the smile, patted her on the shoulder and left like he thought that was what she wanted.

“Thanks,” was all she said, carefully blank, to the sudden return of the item.

And he’d wanted something a little more, though at least there was the fun thought of her dealing with her angst-ridden ladies now. Though, please, if they thought he’d be hooking up with her again now, after, they were as stupid as – well, as stupid as he’d known them for since they’d fucked up their one and only solo delivery.

He considered trying to casually work ‘panties’ into conversation, but that seemed a bite too obvious. Plus he was suddenly noticing just how many sharp knives she had around. Mightn’t be worth it.

There was something about her calm appearance that made it seem white-knuckled, though her posture seemed mostly relaxed. Something was subconsciously tipping him to it being largely facade. He could tell that he’d got to her, maybe from his moment of interruption, and that she was desperate not to show it.

Which, _nice_.

“Brought this too,” he announced, pulling a few sheets of paper from his back pocket. “Manifests, drop off details,” he elaborated, when she stayed silent. “Need you to memorise, then burn it. Don’t want a paper trail, yeah?”

She looked over the notes briefly, then _stared_ at him. She did it so long he started to worry he had something smeared across his face, even though he’d given himself a once-over in his rear-view mirror before heading on in.

This didn’t seem a reasonable way to act, specially with an audience. She couldn’t be that surprised by him shaking things up. And the notes were neat, he’d fired up his old typewriter – didn’t trust this kind of thing to computers.

But that didn’t quite seem to be what her look was about, though he couldn’t quite identify what-

“Been a while since I last revised,” she said finally.

He thought he detected a hint of challenge in there. Rio knew he hadn’t lost control of the situation, and that even if things went that way there were an abundance of levers he could lean on. Though he wasn’t too sure how best to play things in front of the other two. Didn’t know how much she’d told them about a lotta things, wasn’t sure how useful it’d be spilling any beans.

Suddenly her friend – Rowena? Racquel? – piped up though.

“She- we can do it.”

Off his unimpressed look, because really them other two didn’t have the best track record with him despite never having fired a gun his way, she added, “Photographic memory,” in a weak tone, pointing to her forehead.

After a second he nodded his okay, and both sidekicks exhaled in dramatic relief. Over what, he wasn’t even sure. He’d just asked them to read a list, hadn’t said anything even slightly threatening. Obviously there was the implied instruction not to fuck it up, but he hadn’t been dumb enough to give them the only copy – he had his version in a safe in case of emergency. Honestly, he understood how Elizabeth had figured herself for a boss early next to these two clowns.

He gave her another once-over, but she wasn’t giving much away. Not acting up neither though. Maybe he’d need to check in on her, alone, sometime soon. Make sure she wasn’t up to anything too shady. But, whatever. Professional was a good look for them. Could be dropping their chaperones in the first place had been the problem. He nodded a goodbye, just habit, before heading back out.

Couldn’t entirely prevent his grin at the flurry of questions he heard before he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Beth, please tell me you didn’t bang him again?! I know he’s hot but-”

“Never mind that Annie! Did you give him a key?? I checked the lock _myself_ after we came in and-”

Ha, it was some of the sweetest music ever heard.

*

He noticed her following him _pretty_ quick, but not straight off. And that was. Well, it was a few things. Troubling, that was up near the top of the list. Annoying, obviously, what about her wasn’t. And a big fucking problem.

He pulled over as soon as he spied a big enough space, Elizabeth manoeuvring her ridiculous mama van into the gap he’d left behind his car.

She didn’t make a move, and he was feeling _hella_ energetic all of a sudden so he jumped out and stomped over, pinging the fob to lock his car up as he strode. Her van’s passenger door was unlocked, of fucking course, and he hadn’t seen her pop it for him so he had to assume she just rolled around like that. Still as little sense of danger as ever then.

“What?” he demanded, settling in and shutting the door much softer than he was feeling. Wasn’t in the mood to get an earful on the proper care of automobiles.

“Hiya!” she returned, bright and big, and so obviously fake he couldn’t see the damn point.

He propped an elbow on the door, rested his head against that hand. Turned himself to properly watch her, and offered up a very bored expression.

There was some awful music playing in there, sounded like some shitty 90s grunge. Wasn’t particularly loud, but still. He turned it off with a snap. She barely seemed to even register he’d done it, only pissing him off more.

“There’s some things I wanted to talk to you about.”

You’d think he hadn’t just seen her, god.

“And I don’t have your number,” she added, in what she probably thought was an arch tone, but mostly just made her sound nauseous.

Jeez, she was still harping on that?

“This how you chase down all the boys who ain’t interested?”

She looked away, clearly frustrated. And, good. _Great_. Fucking marvellous.

“Some of this isn’t stuff I wanted to say in front of the girls.”

That piqued his interest. Secrets? Discord? Could be worth knowing about.

“_And_ wouldn’t it be easier to tell me things without having to come find me every time?”

Lord but she was relentless. Even if she mighta had something of a point. Seemed every time his eyes fell on her his blood pressure raised.

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll look into getting some burners. _M__aybe_. But I ain’t keeping the same number for more than a couple weeks. Suggest you do the same. No space for sloppy.”

She nodded all serious, but he could see pleasure blooming between the cracks. And _that_ needed nipping, early on.

“Abuse your phone privileges and I’m cutting you off. Carrier pigeons only.” He tried to ignore the fact that he sounded suspiciously like the parent of a moody teenager.

She showed him a firm and agreeable business-like face, thankfully devoid of smile.

“Right, what else? Or that a ruse cos you’re that desperate for someone to text?”

She ignored his bait. “There’s a new player in town, Nina. I think she’s Serbian or something.”

What the fuck. Like he didn’t know every little thing that happened in Detroit. As if he needed this silly little birdie feeding him scraps of info. Nina wasn’t even Serbian – though she did tend to tell people that. Elizabeth’s power tripping was – what was the opposite of cute? _Gross_.

He didn’t fucking need her, not for this shit. She’d got so puffed full of her own assumed value, and that had to be his own fault. And he was about to explain that in no uncertain terms, but then she picked up the thread again.

“See, I’m guessing you know… I’ve been, uh, printing some of my own funny money-”

“25 per cent,” he said immediately.

“Huh?”

He couldn’t fathom why she was acting like his was an unreasonable interruption, but he decided to helpfully explain anyway. “My cut.”

“You’re not doing anything?”

He shrugged, unimpressed. “Letting you keep them hands.”

“Right,” she said, slow but not sounding much scared unfortunately. “Okay.”

Her eyes fluttered, clearly working some numbers out. And it was – what word had he decided on? Gross, yeah. Like, think faster or use your damn phone’s calculator, fucksake.

“_Anyway_,” she soldiered on, “Nina’s made overtures. Again. Thought you might want to know.”

“I just developed this business interest like three seconds ago, man. Why’d you think I’d care?”

She squirmed, displeased. Which he mighta enjoyed if it seemed more like she was rattled by him, and not just irritated he wasn’t displaying telepathic powers.

“I don’t know if everyone knows about your miraculous resurrection or whatever. But if she doesn’t?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, and it was a better effort than usual. Maybe she’d been practising in the mirror, same way as Marcus had perfected his Elvis sneer.

Yeah, okay, he hadn’t exactly announced he wasn’t dead to the criminal world at large, and he knew Turner had perpetuated the myth – probably an attempt to draw Elizabeth out. But what did she expect him to do? Have some big coming out party, a fucking cotillion? Nah, people’d find out when they found out. Or they wouldn’t, cos he’d’ve shot them in the back.

That thought had him beaming, which she seemed to take as an excuse to prattle on some more. He tried to zone out, ignore her, but his brain was apparently wired to pick up on the exact frequency of her voice; like it’d always be able to pry his ears open no matter what.

So he got more than the gist of her half-baked scheme. She wanted them to pair up, her to infiltrate the competition, then him to ‘help’ take ‘em out some way.

“Got the taste for betrayal then?” It was savage, though he didn’t switch up that bored tone.

Her head slammed back, with a gasp erupting outta her. Something about that action combined with the sunlight filtering in made him think of- But he thrust that memory aside. Professional, yeah. Now wasn’t the fucking time. Never’d be more like it.

Thing was though, it kinda wasn’t a terrible plan – though her version obviously lacked a lot. And that nettled at him. The idea of turning something away just because he despised the source of it. That wasn’t smart business. Yes caution would undoubtedly be necessary for something like that, times about a motherfucking million with Elizabeth involved in any way, but still.

He mulled it over in the back of his mind while pressing on. “You ain’t wanna tell me that in front of your lady friends?”

He wouldn’t trust her far as _Marcus_ could punt her, but still figured he could read between her words a spell if she was chatting crap.

“Um,” she seemed weirdly appeased by the change of topic, which hadn’t been his aim. “They’re not really involved with that stuff. I give them odd jobs mostly – picking up supplies, that sort of thing. They’re- they’re scared. I don’t want them involved in anything serious.”

Hmm. It didn’t have his bullshit-detector pinging anyway.

“And what else?”

He’d known there was something further on her mind, though as usual he couldn’t say precisely how he’d discerned it.

She looked all startled, and he’d need to stop showing off that way if it was gonna send her so stupidly breathless, jesus.

“Actually,” and her tone was ludicrous with how light she was aiming, wouldn’t fool a fly, “I’m looking to buy Dean out of the dealership.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I thought that you might want to, uh, do that? The buying?” Her register had squeaked way up by the end of that.

Honestly, did she not understand how to think before she spoke? He _knew_ he wasn’t the only one lecturing her over running into things half-cocked, had heard her crew, if they could even really be called that, humming that exact same tune. Either she didn’t hear the blatant suggestion of ‘hey wanna replace my husband?’ straight off or she absolutely did and was trying to work him.

“_Because_,” she pushed on, the pink at the back of her neck, the tips of her ears, the height of her cheeks telling him it was the likely the former (though he had to remember his mantra – never to be too sure with her), “that’s where we’re running the cars through, right? Be easier than a new person, someone we’d need to hide it from.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“How come you so eager to push him out?”

Her mouth shut completely for a blessed moment. It struck him, again, that there was some story there she wasn’t sure she wanted to share with him. Which seemed a mite strange considering she’d been so eager to spill basically every other thought she’d had recently. But maybe he oughta be grateful for small mercies.

“Would you want to be in business with him?” she shot back, a little glib.

He couldn’t help laughing then. She’d caught him off guard, damnit. And she wasn’t fucking wrong there, was she. Her ex was an utter moron.

He cleared his throat. “A’ight, I’ll think on it.”

Elizabeth might not be a long-term investment, but no good’d come of cluing her into that.

She beamed, so big and bright - devastatingly genuine. It was like staring into the sun, but from behind some protective eyewear that let you appreciate it. And she looked almost exactly how she’d been that time when – _ugh_, fuck.

He lashed out, couldn’t – didn’t wanna – help it. It was the enclosed space, the familiarity, the memories surfacing that had him all antsy.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” He spat it out, gruff, a warning not to push obviously present.

But apparently that wasn’t enough.

“Like what?”

“Like you desperate to blow me.”

It was less a gut punch, more a grenade. Something that threatened to send just as much, if not more, debris his way.

She didn’t even look offended, or put off by the crassness like he woulda expected. Instead she looked kinda _concerned_, and he could handle most anything better than that typa dirty hypocrisy.

Still, it seemed to startle some strain of truth from her. So perhaps it, whatever it had been – some harsh projection maybe, was a trick worth remembering, even if it soured his insides. Cos what other explanation could there be for her stuttered, “That’s not what I- I was just thinking you look good.”

There was an evident hint of pleading to her tone, so he forced out a dismissive laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears—and they were already full of his pulse.

He summoned a dispassionate, “Whatever,” tried not to regret too much his lack of any better repartee, before making a rapid break for it, returning to his car.

And, yeah, he mighta sped off a bit too fast, tyres squealing. But, whatever, she probably thought it looked cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Addicted to Bass by Puretone (featuring Amiel Daemion).
> 
> I was imagining Beth listening to maybe some Liz Phair in her car?
> 
> Also, please do not be concerned, the trashed talk will be back shortly ;)


	6. The winds of of fear, whip away the sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fucked up shit happens to Beth, Rio's... displeased

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter TW for neo-Nazis - it's not a huge part of it and nothing graphic (and they're obviously the bad guys and get smacked around) but just wanted to warn up front in case

Rio was fucking fuming, staring at his phone. Elizabeth had triple goddamn text him, and as far as he was concerned she was on thin fucking ice. He tossed his cell away from him, with a loud huff. Even that first message had bordered on the irrelevant! ‘I’m renaming the dealership’ - pssht. Well okay, professional courtesy _maybe_, but it didn’t exactly sound urgent.

Then, a bit later, a picture, a mock up of a design it looked like, ‘MARKS MOTORS’ in black and white – the two words stacked, one on top of the other. And fine, it was dimly pertinent info, but what the fuck was she expecting him to say to that? ‘That your maiden name’? Seemed pretty logical – and also he didn’t give a fuck. ‘You changing your name too’? What did it matter, he wasn’t actually HR, wasn’t gonna make her fill out a form in triplicate. ‘Alliteration’s good’? Which, yeah, probably was for a company name – though how’d a person comment on that without _using_ it? ‘Alliteration’s awesome’ sounded appallingly eager, dumb as all hell, and it didn’t matter cos he wasn’t gonna respond to her nonsense!

He retrieved his phone, just so he could enjoy throwing it at the cushion again. The soft thwack that produced was resoundingly unsatisfying, specially a second time. He wanted to _break_ something.

That third message, that had been the worst one. A long while after the others, ‘Sorry to bother, thought you might want to know’.

Sorry?! There was a lot of shit that bitch owed him apologies for. Which he knew he wouldn’t get, and which he wasn’t even after anyway – couldn’t help, didn’t have the power to undo. But is _that_ what she was willing to attempt to make amends over? Too many messages? Even if he thought they were awful he didn’t buy it. Knew it was a pathological need to be seen in a good light rearing its head. She wanted all the bad shit between them swept aside, wanted him to believe she was a good person. Craved his fucking validation – probably chased after it from just about everyone. Well whatthefuckever. He wasn’t playing her game.

He grabbed his phone up once more, grumbling, to look through the thread one more time. Thing was, he didn’t want to _reward_ her shitty etiquette, obviously. But he was kinda wary of letting the string go entirely unanswered too. She was pretty much the dictionary definition of a wildcard – might rock up to his somehow to screech, or fill his voicemail with a million annoying messages. And she’d been kinda right, communication between them was a step easier and faster with the channel open. Not like she deserved a medal or nothing, she’d hardly invented the telephone. But, still, he wasn’t over-eager to have to cut her off and go back to following her around every time he had to tell her something.

So after a touch more deliberation he graced her with a response, but an intentionally abysmal one, just one letter, ‘k’. He saw she’d read the message and hadn’t replied after a few minutes, causing him to exhale a deep sigh of relief.

As it happened, he actually did have a couple things worth discussing with Elizabeth but wasn’t even tempted to do it over a call. And it certainly weren’t shit to put in writing anyhow. Maybe a surprise pop by was just what was needed. Throw her off her game, oh yeah. He grabbed his keys and checked his watch. Just past seven, only a twenty minute drive or so over to the dealership, where he figured she’d still be. Cool.

When he arrived he gave his phone a cursory glance – she’d sent him a dumb little thumbs up emoji in response. One of the stupid yellow ones, like she thought she was a Simpson, or couldn’t work out how to change it, or maybe they just didn’t make ones pale enough for her. Jesus, never mind him, she was the one in need of a word of the day calendar. Had it really taken her the best part of an hour to come up with that childish a response? He was almost tempted to hit back with something scathing of the sort, just so he could walk up while she was looking at it and chide her double. But, nah, she really didn’t need anything that could lead to greater telephonic confidence.

He let himself in, had a key she’d intentionally given him for this place. As predicted, she was in her office, scribbling furious notes. She didn’t notice him right off, so he just watched a sec. And maybe this hadn’t been his best idea. He hadn’t been here – this part of the building – at night since- Well, since a while. One very clear fragment came wandering along, spiked its way into the forefront of his mind. She really did look good behind that desk, still. It was – inconvenient. She was dolled up all professional in blazer and blouse. And at this angle he could see how the buttons were straining over her breasts, a gap that displayed-

Rio coughed, announcing his presence, eager for something to present a distraction. It had the added benefit of startling her and, ah, maybe it was worth keeping her around for that alone. Didn’t think he’d ever truly tire of her panicked looks and funny gasps.

But all too soon, once she’d registered who it was – and checked a mental rolodex to ensure she hadn’t done anything particularly idiotic of late that’d require direct retribution, probably – she offered him a tired little smile. Which was- _irritating_. He forbore, though. Rio stayed leaning against the jamb, opting not to get any closer. No point stirring up any of that same state shit or whatever.

“Don’t think you’ll be getting another overture from Nina, least not any time soon.”

Elizabeth gaped at him, like that hadn’t been her own goddamn suggestion. But then he figured she probably thought he’d run in guns blazing, popping people left and right. Nah, that was more her style.

She musta read something in his face, which concerned him since he hadn’t meant to give her that chance, cos she hazarded, kinda tentative, “Turner?”

Well there weren’t too much point in prevaricating really. She knew both he and Turner were alive, obviously. She wasn’t _quite_ self-absorbed enough to have missed that. So she musta concluded Turner roped him into _something_ in exchange for his life. And probably spent some time hoping against hope it didn’t involve her. Tough fucking shit.

He settled on a broad, “Mmhm,” with a tilt of his head.

“You didn’t like my plan?” Elizabeth didn’t sound too put out, more curious. Like she actually wanted to learn something all of a sudden.

“Well,” he said with something approaching a sneer, “it involved you, so nah.”

She actually did look offended then, a real spark animating her face. And that was nice, but… Okay, he wasn’t sure exactly why he needed her to know it but he did. Specially if school was about to be back in session. He wasn’t some petty dumbass, he did smart business. Hadn’t stopped her involvement cos he hated her and whatnot, it was cos he thought she’d mess it up.

“You a massive fucking liability, Elizabeth. I can’t trust you’ll stick to the script.”

He’d been protecting his interests in the best fucking way. And not sheltering her, jeez. So what if handing people like Nina over to Turner bought Elizabeth a touch more time? He’d not decided what his preferred course of action was yet; how he wanted to enact punishment, and vengeance, on both her and Turner. Time was useful. As well as being money. And the more he let tick past, the more cash she was throwing him. It wasn’t making him like her or anything, but he could, y’know, abide.

And he didn’t wanna _thank_ her for that roundabout Nina suggestion or nothing. She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know, he coulda got there himself, right easy. But. Her coming to him, being strangely honest – about her fake cash and all. It oughta be- well, not rewarded. _Encouraged_, though.

“It’s good,” he started, sounding a little stilted but ploughing on, “that you told me about all that.”

“Yeah?”

God, did she have to keep that yearning for praise so fucking obvious, allow it to swim so close to the surface?

“Mmhm.”

He turned to go, had had enough. She didn’t look like she was causing any trouble, not for the moment anyway.

But then she started going on again, course she did. Give her an inch and off she sprinted.

“Have you given any thought to my other suggestion?”

He saw her dramatic gesture, meant to encompass the entire dealership.

And, _ugh_. Right. Buying her dunce ex out. She’d definitely had worse notions. And somehow, even after everything, taking something else from Dean still scented sweet as. But even if he’d been leaning toward agreement he was extremely aware that if he caved she’d be three for three on getting him to back her ideas. And, fine. She _had_ always been useful for shit like that. He might as well mine that seam. Though he made a mental note to shoot down whatever she next came up with. Unless it was particularly stand out.

“Fine,” he said. “Okay.”

Elizabeth practically _squeaked _with delight.

And _uh uh_, absolutely not, no thanks.

“Right, so I’ll go see him in the morning.”

That was more like it – blind terror spreading across her face, tension clear cross her shoulders. She started chanting a long ass litany of ‘no’s, like she’d been listening to too much early Destiny’s Child and couldn’t get the song out her head. It _was_ catchy, to be fair.

“He _hates_ you,” she managed, once she’d escaped from her looping refrain.

“He don’t hate you?”

She actually seemed to give his question proper consideration, both sets of front teeth driving into her lower lip as she turned it over. And that was, yeah, _gross_. Her mouth’d probably end up all chapped and shit – nasty.

“Mm-mm,” she concluded, shaking her head softly from side to side.

There was definitely some kinda story there. But whatever, he ain’t need it.

“You could give me the money?” she suggested. “I pay him, then I transfer half the dealership to you?”

That had to be a joke, right?

“I don’t fucking think so.”

She shrugged, making like it had just been an off-the-cuff suggestion, not a ludicrous ploy. Sure, _sure_.

“I’ll just do it through a shell company.”

"You have- you have those?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why you so interested all sudden? You got a wire on or something?”

He didn’t actually think so. He’d had a pretty good glimpse at her chest as it happened, and besides shit like that created paperwork – the kind that’d get flagged by Turner.

Elizabeth looked honest to god appalled by the suggestion, as if she hadn’t done way worse.

“No! It’s just – you used to like. Explaining this stuff to me.”

“Yeah,” he said, shoving significance into the syllable, “_used_ to.”

But he musta lingered a beat too long, wanting to track the dismay as it flooded every corner of her face.

Cos then she was reaching into a bottom drawer and asking, for some godforsaken reason, “Want a drink?”

At least she was presenting a horrible suggestion he could shoot down easy.

“No tha- that’s not,” and shit. He didn’t really have somewhere to go with what he’d started saying. ‘That’s not a good idea’? ‘That’s not what I came for’? _Lame_. So he just grinned mean, like not bothering to end his sentences was a cool new trick he had for talking to people who didn’t matter. Then he turned on his heels and got the fuck outta there, sharpish.

*

He _almost_ didn’t answer Elizabeth’s call. It’d serve her fucking right! Though she’d been good of late. Not hassling him, getting shit done. They’d carved a precarious equilibrium, a deformed thing held together with spit and chance. And maybe there was something important to relay– they had just had a new shipment, after all.

To be completely honest, he wasn’t all that busy neither. Marcus was off at his mom’s. And Rio’d handed over the reins of quite a few business dealings to trusted lieutenants in the aftermath of the shooting. He’d fully intended to grab them back, but with it all ticking along like precision clockwork, and a couple huge hassles on his mind, he’d left it. Money kept rolling in, troubles didn’t. Why fix something in perfect working order, right?

So, yeah, he hadn’t been_ bored_, not exactly. He’d been relaxing. It just had taken the form of him tryna remember what hobbies he’d always thought he’d pick up if he had the time. And then she rang. And he figured it’d probably be kinda entertaining, whatever it was, even if she could make him feel like he was part of an acupuncture experiment gone wrong – invisible needles digging at his insides.

So, “Yeah?”, which was a totally reasonable way to answer the phone, whatever the fuck Steffi said.

Immediately he could tell shit was mussed. Her breathing was way off, like she was tryna hold back sobs.

“I- Something’s gone wrong. At the dealership. I- Sorry.”

“You okay?” She wasn’t his top concern, course not, but she sounded as if she was in shock. First thing’d be to talk her down.

“I’m,” she started then trailed off. Seemed she mighta been taking stock a mo cos she followed up with, “It’s just superficial cuts, I think. Yeah _I’m_.”

Shit. He was already pulling on a pair of jeans, had to hold his cell away from him a sec as he grappled a t-shirt on.

“The cars?”

“I think they’re okay,” she said, but it was slow, distracted.

Right, that sounded good. So what-

“It’s the actual _building_-” Elizabeth choked, obviously crying. “Can you-? I’m sorry to ask but do you-”

“I’m ten minutes away,” he lied. If he ran a couple red lights he could probably make it in about that. “You by yourself?”

He heard a rustling, like maybe she’d moved her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her.

“Oh,” she said after what felt like an age, “yeah.”

“You feel safe to stay there?”

“Um.” A pause. “Uh. Yeah? I think. But.” A longer pause. And he was already at his car so- “Can you hurry?”

It, she, sounded so small.

“Yeah.” He disconnected the call, focussed on flooring it.

*

He’d made it in twelve, without smashing into any of the dumbfuck drivers that got in his way – which was, like, an impressive achievement frankly.

He found her crumpled in the lot, knees squeezed to her chest, tears drying on her cheeks. He’d never seen her so _compressed_. Once he’d rushed over he crouched down, tried to get a sense of whatever was up.

The dealership certainly looked like shit – glass smashed and graffiti sprawled all over – including that new sign she’d been so happy with. But it didn’t look like many cars had been touched – a few cracked windows, some scratches. He couldn’t be completely sure simply craning his head round but didn’t look like any were gone – lot still crowded. It didn’t entirely seem like the disaster she was making it out to be. And it was funny, though not exactly ha ha, cos he’d thought he wanted to see her like that. Well and he did still – but he was supposed to be the one getting her scared, making her sad. Not some random uncreative thugs or whatever.

Rio made her show him her hands, winced a little at the sight of the glass embedded in one. He got something of the story from her – in stuttering pieces. She’d not come along till after whatever had happened, hadn’t had a run in. Sounded like some panicked slip.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’m fucking _fine_.” She spat it out, so sharp, at him. He’d never heard her swear much, not without some part of him in her – and shit, now _really_ wasn’t the time.

“Cuts get infected, man. You got that first aid kit inside, yeah?”

He spurred her upwards, his hands on her sides. She went with him willing, at least.

“I’m!” she yelped at him, fist clenching, like he was being totally unreasonable and she couldn't find the words anywhere in the world to give vent to it. And he was tryna be sympathetic for fuck’s sake, Elizabeth was obviously not in a good state, but she was really starting to piss him off.

She _growled_ then, and he had to be missing something but-

Then she pointed to the dealership, to the sign, the shit he’d only given a cursory glance. He hadn’t taken in the details initially. Hadn’t been _worried_ about her per se. Just. Unnerved. Yeah, that’s what it’d been. But now as his eyes roamed it, he noticed a few swastikas, a couple nasty epithets.

“I’m fucking Jewish!” she shouted.

And, oh. Right.

Suddenly she was way, way up in his face. He hadn’t seen her move and fury was clearly spilling out every pore.

“Oh right, like you didn’t know?”

His head snapped back in confusion. “Huh?”

“So, what, you can find my house by magic when I rob you, know enough to stalk me to carpool or my daughter’s _fucking_ dance recital, figure out my favourite drink or- Or _whatever_. But you don’t know basic biographical details?”

And, yeah, that _was_ about the size of it. Wasn’t like he’d ever done deep fucking background on her. Just sought the details he needed, to find her, to wheedle her into doing shit he wanted. Most of which was super easy cos she never changed her iCloud password. Man, he really did need to have that chat with her about security. Tomorrow, maybe.

Not like he’d known her maiden name (till she’d sent him a picture of it anyway), or when her birthday was, or her favourite colour. Though if he had to guess he’d figure her for a fall baby – something autumnal to her look. And the colour, that was tricky, but maybe green? Sure seemed to love her plants and- And, whatever. Definitely file under unimportant. Specially now.

“What the fuck would I care?” he snapped, hadn’t meant it to come out so severe. “_I’m_ not some alt-right whackjob!”

He waved his hand in front of face a little. Not threatening, more like: _hello_. Cos he knew she could be unobservant as all shit sometimes but it _surely_ hadn’t passed her attention he was, like, brown.

She sagged, fight going out her, eyes to the ground. But then she looked back at him, proper square. “You had nothing to do with this?”

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. “Course not, man!” He’d be even madder if he hadn’t caught the implied, ‘_I __just__ need to hear you say it_’, under her words. She had to be jumbled as all fuck – this was his place just as much as hers now. And it was hard to fathom something _less_ his style.

“Look,” he tried. “You in shock. You need water. And sugar. Can we go in, yeah?”

But she wouldn’t stop twisting about, looking over the mess like she thought she could Nancy Drew up some answers.

So he switched into that jolly-exasperated tone his mom used to employ with him, back in the day, when she was completely at the end of her rope.

“Elizabeth, this for your own good, yeah? Can you work with me, please?”

And maybe that tone was familiar to her too, pinged off her lizard brain. Coulda reminded her of her own mother, or maybe it was how she went at her own brood sometimes. Whatever it was, she leant a shade more agreeable. Nodded, offered him a soft, “Sorry,” to which he only grunted acknowledgement.

Once he got her situated in the bathroom with the kit, she seemed to do an all right job of cleaning herself up so he didn’t offer any help. He lingered a moment, just to keep an eye, but then headed to her office to make a couple calls as well as scare up some booze. Turned out she had the good stuff secreted away for herself there too – _quelle surprise_.

“C’mon,” he insisted when he’d brought her a glass, bottle tucked under his armpit still, “drink up.”

She blinked at him, all confused.

He elaborated. “Shock? Well here’s water, sugar, plus handy painkiller.”

He tapped a finger to the glass, and she took it with a shrug before draining it in one.

“Good girl,” he said with a slight smile before refilling it. “There’s gonna be a clean up crew here soon. Best if we can avoid anyone reporting it to the police, right? Probably don’t want them crawling over the lot.”

She nodded mechanically, he wasn’t sure she was actually listening.

“All right, which lady you wanna call?”

“Huh?” she said. She seemed to be inspecting the glassiness of her eyes in her reflection. Her inattention was making him annoyed, but not really at her. He couldn’t blame Elizabeth for being slow under the circumstances.

“Your sister or, uh, Rhododendron or whatever?”

That summoned some extra processing power over to her, as she struggled to work out what he was on about. “You mean Ruby?”

“Sure, whatever. Which one you want to come get you?”

“Oh,” she said. “Ruby, I guess. But. Well I wouldn’t want to impose, but do you think you could maybe give me a ride-”

“Nah,” he said. And her face crumpled, just for a second. Before she steeled herself. “I’mma find out who did this. Then deal with it.”

Elizabeth definitely wasn’t smiling. But she was looking at him – right into him it felt – and he could see that gladness, clear as day.

“Rio-” she started up after, and he tried to bury the startled feeling he got at hearing his name from her lips – it had been a while, that was all. Figured he knew what was coming - some lecture on the sanctity of human life or whatever had to be inbound. But then it was simply, “Thank you.”

He nodded, once. He wasn’t doing it for her. Not – not _really_. It was his business they’d fucked with too. And anyway, who had a problem with smacking Nazis around? But also. She was his to torture, no one else’s. He had a whole game plan, even if it was fuzzy in some places. Couldn’t have her distracted while he was playing, right?

He waited around till she’d finished her phone conversation with her friend at least. She sounded pissed, not crying no more. He kinda wanted to hang to see her actually get picked up, but she waved him off and he was angling to get started, so. He made her promise to shoot him a message when she got home. Just. Just, like, in case. He wasn’t worried or nothing, but what a pain in the ass it’d be to scoop her off the ground then have her taken out by some incompetent assholes a little later, him totally unaware it was happening.

*

Didn’t even take long to track the idiots down. They weren’t properly affiliated, just some dumb gaggle of actual, bona fide, neo-Nazi pricks. Like some storybook bogeymen, though ones lacking plenty in proficiency.

And, _god_, it was satisfying to break some bones finally, stake a claim – yell about no one touching his stuff, put a bullet in someone who’d really earned it. He’d taken a couple guys with, but hadn’t really needed ‘em. He was having too much fun to wanna share. Frustrations seemed to slip off and outta him as he worked.

He hadn’t driven his own car to the poker game (if you could even call playing Texas hold ‘em that, fucking babies) he’d tracked them to – he wasn’t an _idiot_. He’d thought about grabbing one of the dumbasses’ cars after but they looked like rusty piles of shit. When Demon offered to sort him a ride back Rio turned it down. Figured he might be in the mood for a walk, or a drink, or something. He did meander a few blocks, enjoying the cool air on his skin, but ended up getting a cab not too long later. Didn’t think much about giving the driver Elizabeth’s address. Yeah he’d had that one ‘home’ text but still. Just wanted to check.

*

He found a replacement spare key under the plant pot when he looked. Pocketed that one too cos – _no_. Tomorrow she wouldn’t be able to escape the full force of his soapbox.

He let himself in, found her on the sofa wrapped in a blanket. There was a glass of red wine in front of her, mostly full bottle nearby. It reminded him not at all of that awkward fantasy which had played out in the same space, and thank fuck for that. She had some cartoon on the TV, sound off, with smooth jazz playing from her stereo. Some overblown white people shit, but it sounded all right if pretty forgettable.

When he got closer he noticed just how unfocussed her eyes had got, didn’t think it was just shock.

“You take something, sweetheart?” No judgement in his voice, and it came out gentler than he’d even remembered he could be with her.

She grinned at him, slow and almost impish, like the whole experience had been washed off her. “Valium.”

Ah, well he couldn’t really blame her.

“Potent combo,” she told him, lifting her wine glass to take a sip. Her face clouded over a bit though as she managed to take him in. “Are you okay?” she asked. Then, without letting him answer, “You’re hurt!”

He wasn’t, really. Bloody knuckles, a tiny gash on his face, one knee a little swollen with the denim ripped round it. Musta looked worse than it was. But when he tried to shrug, he hissed. Fuck, hadn’t even realised he’d popped it again.

“You want some?” she asked, offering the glass. And. And what the hell. Yeah he did. He’d had a _day_, after all. It wasn’t his usual choice, but it tasted pretty good.

Though then she was pulling a rattling container out from somewhere under her cover, shoving it toward him, silent supplication.

And he _shouldn’t_. Bad – worst, maybe – idea. But she looked so content now, cares of the day cleaned off. And since he’d become aware of it, burst that distracting cloud, pain was throbbing through his body. And he. He was fucking tired. So over it. Couldn’t he put the weight of hating her down, for one fucking night? Please, didn’t he deserve a break?

“How many you take?”

“One,” she lilted, and he wasn’t sure he believed her so he popped two in his mouth, washed them down with a sip more wine.

She grinned at him and, well, of course he returned it. What else was he supposed to do?

“You okay?” she asked, grabbing back the glass, and he didn’t fight her. Even though he’d come to check on her, didn’t need fussing over, he let it go. Whatever.

“I’m good,” he replied. “_They_ not.” And maybe his grin hadn’t gone away yet – but what did it matter. “Where’d you get ‘em?” he asked, indicating the pills.

“Oh,” she said, and for a sec he thought she wasn’t gonna tell him, felt he’d pried somewhere he oughtn’t. But then it looked like she didn’t mind. Started giving him some dumbed down explanation, like a reverse birds and the bees.

He nodded. “Post partum? Sucks.”

She looked at him in abject shock a bit, till he worried he’d got it wrong somehow.

“I thought men were genetically engineered to be _idiots_ and not know things,” she retorted eventually. “Except Stan,” she amended.

He scratched his head. Seemed quite a lot to unpack there. Had that pool of disappointment shimmering just below her surface always been so turbulent? “Who’s Stan? Ooh, you got a boyfriend?” He was joking, mostly.

She snorted in an extremely undignified manner before reaching for a tissue. He thought he mighta seen a bubble of snot. _Gross_, all right.

“He’s _Rhododendron_'s husband,” she managed, before collapsing into cackles, muttering “Rho-Rho-Pah!”

“Like Ruby such a common fucking name,” he murmured, but there weren’t much heat to it.

*

They swapped war stories a while – injuries they’d had themselves, or had to patch up. She’d seemed to mend her kid sister a lot, it sounded.

He was _almost_ tempted to tell the one about some bitch who’d put three bullets in him. Or the story of how she’d got him locked up, the last time his shoulder had hurt anywhere near so bad. And he thought, like this, she’d probably be able to work up a giggle for either.

But. But what was the point. She _knew_ she’d done it, it hung heavy between them, along with them other things. Always. And anyway, his shoulder wasn’t bothering him so much as it went. Nothing really was.

The music had got bumped louder too, once the Sarah Vaughan was on, though they’d bickered a while over who had to get up to do it. Turned out the remote that could make that happen was right in front of them.

“Sooo,” she started up, apropos of nothing he’d noticed. “We get divorced.”

“How’s that?” he asked, and she turned to squint at him. She looked ridiculous when she got fucked up, like someone’d robbed her of glasses she desperately needed. “We ain’t married.”

She huffed a laugh but said, “No, me and _Dean._”

Rio rolled his eyes, cos she’d clomped right past his unbelievably hilarious joke, but there was no helping some people.

“Then, maybe 30 seconds later, his mom set him up with someone.”

“Yeah?” he asked lazily. “What’s she like, the woman that made… that?” It was kinda hard to picture.

Elizabeth looked puzzled at the derailment. Well, whatever. It wasn’t monologue hour. If she wanted to tell him things she could engage in polite fucking conversation. Though she didn’t actually look annoyed over it. In fact, she was smiling.

“Mm, probably exactly how you’re imagining her?”

“Ah,” he said. “Just like you then?”

“What!” she yelped. Followed by an introspective-sounding, “Ohh??”, and then a not entirely certain, “Nooooo.”

He lost it at that, almost full blown hysterics. He righted himself, slightly, when she chucked a cushion his way, even though she’d missed by about a mile.

“So,” he said, indicating with a hand flourish she oughta continue, though his voice cracked back to laughter even through that one syllable.

“So! She’s this older lady. And she’s _loaded_. And he’s just. _Happy_. Being this kept man. It’s so _funny_.”

She hadn’t seemed to tell her face it was though.

“So what, you jealous?”

Her nose scrunched and she shook her head exuberantly, kinda like his kid. Then seemed to get a little dizzy. But there was something there, right. She didn’t want her idiot ex back, duh. But like maybe she coulda handled some of his respect.

“Pissed he didn’t wanna be kept by you, that it?”

“Mm,” her mouth rambled around as she chewed a thought slowly, “he didn’t wanna be kept by _you_.”

“Oh, c’mon sweetheart. That weren’t how it was. You weren’t exactly some moll in mink.”

That got her back to laughing.

“And not what you wanted, yeah?” He looked closer at her, had the sudden urge. Felt kinda serious.

“Shuddup,” she whispered, eyes rustling, as she bumped against him, just slightly.

Like that had always been a preposterous concept. Well the visual was, sure. But she remembered the time he’d left her a massive storage unit full of cash, told her to have at it, yeah? How, even after almost everything, he’d left all his shit with her? Every indulgence, every shard of her nonsense he’d let slide? That he’d- But, no. Inhale. Exhale. Remember, _never_’d be the time for that.

She yawned, breaking the spell.

Shit. “It’s late,” he murmured. “I should go.” He jumped up, digging into pockets.

“You,” she semi-slurred, “are smashed.” He thought something about shiny pots and kettles. “You shouldn’t drive.”

“That’s good,” he said, suddenly remembering, “cos my car ain’t here.”

That had them both laughing heartily again, though he wasn’t too sure what was so funny. He attempted to inspect his phone a sec, but had to glance away – it was disgustingly bright. He struggled to reduce the glare without looking at it, and once he’d managed that he found himself squinting in confusion cos he couldn’t see the screen properly. He fiddled around some more and noticed the battery appeared annoyingly low. He seemed to remember she had a different type phone to him but maybe-

“Why don’t you stay?” she offered.

And _uh uh_, horrid plan. Maybe her worst one yet. Although. Although he was bone-tired and kinda wobbly on his feet and the notion of not having to sort one more thing sounded real attractive.

“Guess I can take the couch,” he acceded.

“Come on,” she said gentle. “You’re hurt. Why don’t you just come sleep with me. _Sleep_. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, hands to myself. Promise.” Elizabeth’s palms were up, conciliatory.

He just grunted at her. Thought about asking how she knew he’d keep _his_ off her in that scenario, but figured it was clear. He’d never do that again, touch her like that, not after what she’d done. Sure they’d played at being buddy buddy, a one night reprieve, but the fact was still there, clawing at the edges. And anyway, that had never been their line. More like, Elizabeth reached for him, and he let her. He didn’t start shit with her, not really. And he wasn’t ever gonna let her again, so.

She sighed, not miffed, just wistful. Any other night he mighta been into her melancholy.

“I’m gonna wash up and change, back in a sec. You wanna borrow something to sleep in?”

He eyed her, amused. Didn’t think her cloyingly cutesy old lady sleepwear was quite his style.

She flushed a little. “I might have some of Dean’s sweatpants around-”

“Bleuch,” he said. “No thanks.”

One half of her mouth wiggled upwards, at his distaste.

She wandered off, and he rebelliously toed off his shoes and shucked his jacket. Tried to settle in comfortable on the sofa before she got back. But it was hard work – the lines of it deceptively hostile. When she reappeared – fresh faced in some of them terrible PJs – she caught him tossing. And she had a real insistent glint in her eyes.

“Come _on_,” she demanded. “It’s for your own good. Can you just work _with_ me, please?”

And _wow_. Throwing that back at him? Dirty fucking trick. But it did do its job. At least she had the decency not to act triumphant when he gave in. More kinda _relieved_.

She was as good as her word too, left him ample space, didn’t try to get his jeans off him again. They were both facing away from each other, wedged close to the edges. Her shallow breaths were a little distracting, plus he thought he could _hear_ her lil heart jackhammering away. But then her noises calmed down as she drifted off. And he just – let it all go, let it be comforting. Slept like the fucking dead.

*

He musta moved some in his sleep, cos in the morning he wasn’t much closer but he was facing her. She’d propped herself up on an elbow, maintaining distance, clearly’d been watching him. Her eyes skittered away when she saw his open but, yeah.

“Mornin’,” he ground out. Then he popped up. The dull ache in his shoulder made itself known, his head felt fluffy, like it was full of cotton. Shit – that hadn’t been a good idea _at fucking all_. “Later,” he offered, and headed off to find his shoes.

But she weren’t slow on her feet, scuttled along right after him.

“I can drive you to your car?”

He made a noise, along with a callous face, something like, “Nyeugh.”

She stepped back, and he figured he’d got away with it. Unpleasant, or maybe just confusing, enough to keep her away.

But then it was, “Look I’ve got to make myself breakfast anyway. So?”

And his stomach’d been empty a while. And, really, what was one more meal between enemies or whatever the fuck they were. He’d already let this shit ramp, sating hunger couldn’t do much more harm. So he allowed her to feed him, no real idea what had her looking at the plates so fond. Maybe she had a giant fucking hardon for pancakes or something. He suffered through a cup of horrible coffee, and growled in warning when she went back for seconds for herself.

She fobbed him off with a, “Two’s my limit these days.”

And then he figured – he was there anyway, having his wisdom ignored. Might as well bring it up.

“We oughta talk about security.”

Her lashes shuttered, like she thought he was on about the dealership. He pulled a matching pair of keys out his pocket. She looked up at him, kinda mischievous almost, and that didn’t make even a solitary lick of sense.

“You can’t just be leaving keys outside for anyone to find. And you should change the locks. In fact-”

“You know I have cameras, right?”

“Ey?”

“They’re really small. Well-hidden. Not like your weird clunky old man things. And I’ve got motion sensors. It’s all hooked up to this app – see.”

She opened up something on her phone, then handed it over. He peered at it, tryna get a good look.

She acknowledged, “Yeah, it’s clearer on the iPad. But I know who’s coming and going.”

Well shit. Maybe she had been paying some attention.

Elizabeth gave him an extremely self-conscious smile and wavered a bit before, “You pace a lot, you know that?”

He shrugged, suppressing a wince as his shoulder tugged, aiming for unruffled. “Gotta get them steps in, yeah?”

“Uh huh.” Her smile hadn’t evaporated.

He didn’t let her drive him to his car. He wasn’t, despite all evidence to the contrary, an actual moron. Didn’t need her knowing where his hat was hung. Though he kinda suspected she’d be able to work it out, if she tried. But, still. Inspiration wasn’t the kinda thing to present her with. He did accept her offer of a ride though, let her drop him near his chiropractor. For convenience’s sake. And to give her something to do – idle hands and all that jazz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from The Sound of Sinners by The Clash (the next lines being 'The message on the tablets was Valium').
> 
> The Destiny's Child song he mentions is 'No No No' (Part 2) (ft Wyclef Jean).


	7. said she’d do it all again, she’d promise not to tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth snaps. Rio's, well, you know the drill.

Shit had shifted some after that – and it wasn’t as if he could act too surprised over that fact, not _trul__y_.

He wasn’t ever gonna be able to forgive Elizabeth for what she’d done. And not a second went by where it was forgotten. But hating her every single instant? He’d had to let that piece slide. He’d only intended to part with that baggage momentarily. But experiencing even a small slice of time without it? That’d been practically _heady_.

Hadn’t realised, till then, how spectacular _tired_ being angry all the dang time had got him. Started figuring all them Zen-lite nuggets in _Star Wars_ had a point. Hate was poison, he genuinely believed it, soured away at a person till they couldn’t recognise themself no more.

And _she’d_ been the one to do it, not him – why’d he have to be the one to carry the burden of it round? That shit didn’t make no sense. And he had a kid for fucksake – couldn’t be holding a burning stack of rage for always; wasn’t prepared to take that home to Marcus. And that’s what it’d be, eventually, if you let yourself cramp that way regular – how were you supposed to know how to unfold?

So he just – loosened it. A bit. Revulsion sometimes flared so deep outta nowhere when he caught a glimpse of her. But he didn’t force it no more. There were bouts he felt a pleasing nothing, like she was a familiar piece of the landscape. And other times – well working with her was, strangely, so fucking _good_, magic easy. Whatever it was this go round – the lack of her stupid ex hanging about; Turner not constantly hounding; her girls pushed to the periphery… She weren’t keeping secrets, not bullshitting him neither – least far as he could tell. Business was booming, and they’d got several sidelines started – some of which they’d gone in on equally, others not.

And he knew it couldn’t last, plainly. Something had to break. But couldn’t he enjoy it a spell? He’d already figured he wasn’t passing her over to Turner. Not cos – well not cos of much more than Jimmy being a grating pompous jackass who didn’t deserve that kinda joy. And also maybe cos he couldn’t quite stomach the idea of leaving her pile of kids to _Dean_. Bleuch. It had startled him how much Elizabeth just fucking _bloomed_ – though she’d been like that with him before, too. But how she about glowed at every piece of advice, any word of encouragement. It almost made him sad for what it said about how she’d been treated in the past. Almost.

They’d worked out something of a rhythm, round childcare and other duties. He’d come to hers, mostly, and they’d discuss the issues of the week, pour over papers or whatever, keep making them plans. She’d somehow found – though he had no idea how – he had a taste for Guinness Foreign Extra, and took to stocking her fridge with it pretty often. They’d normally close out a session with a beer or two, sometimes her opting for one of them weak watery lagers instead. He’d never specifically said it, not out loud, but she’d clocked onto it – better this for them than the hard stuff, better not much neither.

She didn’t cook for him, he wasn’t sure he coulda let her. But sometimes she kept him a plate. And that was – convenient, yeah. Specially cos she got all pissy when he suggested ordering take out, like a total maniac. And she baked a ton, just in general, so she was always tryna force sweet treats on him. He’d been real suspicious of the flan Elizabeth’d tried to foist his way, but that had turned out real nice. And that’d been when the Tupperware containers started up – her shyly suggesting that maybe Marcus’d like some too.

And, see, he knew it was born outta guilt, mostly. And how she wanted to claw back some vision of herself as dull and decent – one he’d never subscribed to in the first fucking place. But also it was just. It had been a long ass time since someone had leaned into tryna take care of him so hard. And she was so insistent with it, steamrolling at him like always, and really how much harm could some food do. Plus those couple times he’d had to drop shit cos of something to do with Marcus – not a common occurrence cos his system was tight – the way she’d basically pushed him out the door, hustling him to it faster. That had been – _nice_.

All that, plus the work stuff ticking along good. Getting to share the load was – _cool_. He’d never had a proper partner in the biz side of things – not really. And it was – handy. Relaxing, maybe.

Though he knew it couldn’t last, wasn’t worth getting used to. He did. He _did_. But. But maybe if they kept following the unspoken rules: him not staying late, them never getting trashed, nothing actually flirty… If they could just keep it up a ways it’d be good, worth it. It was like finally getting a good night’s – or more like a great week’s – sleep. So sue him if he wasn’t over-eager to toss it aside.

Elizabeth was the one who fucked it all up, obviously.

They’d been standing in her kitchen, shit they’d been working on mostly pushed aside. Each with a bottle of beer. She’d made some godawful joke, cos she did that round him regular, once she’d found she could. And he’d laughed – but made it clear that was over how funny it wasn’t. And then – without the least bit of warning – she’d surged up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, got her hands resting on his shoulders.

There’d been a second – or _maybe_ two, tops – when he’d thought it seemed he could sink into it, play pretend. But, nah.

So he thrust her off him, didn’t take much – her touch and her kiss had been light as silk, real tentative. She looked pained, like she’d only just figured out it was wrong to do. Or no – like she’d known it before, but hadn’t wanted to be proved correct.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand – not even being melodramatic, truly wanting the memory, the taste, gone. Paused to fill his lungs with air before, “What the fuck, Elizabeth?”

Her face told him she understood he had the right of it, but she still had the absolute gall to stay goddamn silent.

So, “_No_. You fucking shot me.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that!” It was electric, the way she snapped. He still couldn’t get used to her swearing, even after that time he’d witnessed her curse up a streak from stubbing her toe in the very same room. Though that mighta had more to do with him laughing his ass off at her startled face.

She looked kinda alarmed by her own volume, brought it way down for, “I’m sorry, okay. I’m so fucking sorry I shot you. If I could- I’m just. I’m sorry.”

And wow, he hadn’t known how much he’d needed to hear that. It didn’t _change_ anything, but maybe some knot loosened up, just a smidge.

And, whatever, he couldn’t quite keep making himself believe she’d hated him then, not really. Least it wasn’t so easy to trust in the theory– not with the way she’d said _that_. And the incongruity was – screw it, it was kinda nice. Relieving. A small spell.

He knew he had never let her talk to him about that night. Shied straight off the topic, froze her out if she tried. But – fuck it. He tilted his head, and she took it for the chance it was – glomping greedy.

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

And - “Huh? You with my loaded gun pointed at me? Shit, I’m good but what, you think I’m Superman?”

She rubbed a hand cross her eyes, looked to the side instead when she started back up. “No, before. I was all – kidnapped. There was a bag over my head! I was _terrified_.”

And, okay. Yeah. Maybe not his _finest_ moment. But, just. He had a sense for theatrics, that’d been all it was.

“And you were being _scary_. For a second when I saw it was you, I was so _relieved_. And then I wasn’t. And your breath smelt awful.”

That had him puzzled – and a mite offended.

“You think I can’t tell when someone’s smashed?” she asked, with a wry look. “It reminded me of my mom and-” she shuddered a bit, looking down at the ground.

Way he remembered it, and he was pretty sure he had it accurate, he’d only had a couple beers. A little something to help slip that game face on, cos it hadn’t fit so easy for whatever reason.

But, fine, he got it. She’d been scared. Coulda had it right to be. She’d probably never seen him quite that way before.

“And I’d fucked up,” she added, quiet. “Boomer wasn’t dead. And the money being cooked – that was on me, right? If I’d gotten to the dealership earlier maybe- and if I hadn’t blocked your number I might’ve-”

She was working herself up something hysterical. And it was all – a bit much, to be honest.

“You’d need to do something worse than walk away from a murder charge for a live man to get me to kill you.” Then he remembered who he was chatting to, “That ain’t a challenge.”

She seemed to find that a _little_ funny, but then she crossed her arms over her chest. “You asked me to take care of something, and I thought I had, I did. But then it came back to bite us.”

She was frowning, sounded strangely chiding. Seemed like she wanted to play teacher or some shit. Wanted him to admit she’d been in the wrong. Which, obviously. She’d fucked it. But given she’d put three bullets in him and he still hadn’t managed to work up the desire to be rid of her in a permanent fashion – not in a way he could hold to long anyway – he didn’t feel she’d succeed at convincing him he shoulda taken her out that night.

If he’d wanted to pop her over that, he’d had ample time before she went down to the station. She musta realised that, right? His problem wasn’t that he hadn’t done it, it was that he couldn’t bear the thought of it happening, not really.

“Although,” she added, a pinch heated, “in my defence-” But then Elizabeth’s mouth snapped shut.

“Oh, _please_,” he retorted, big smirk and spread open palm. Assumed it’d be good.

And it was – but not in the way he’d been expecting. Instead of excuses and waffle over her being a good person, he got a story. A hell of one. About that dickhead – rapist – witness, who got run over by the fiancé that hated him. Though not run over enough – but they hadn’t known that yet. How Elizabeth and pals had been conned into disappearing the wrong body – which they’d later paid him 200G to retrieve, pointlessly. How they’d not found out till lil sis had unearthed the twerp, and they’d tied up and interrogated miss bad driver.

It came in fits and starts at first – but then Elizabeth warmed to the task. Seemed the anecdote had been wanting to burst its way outta her – and fair enough. Who else could she tell, really? He wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ seen her quite as appreciative as when he gave up a couple quiet laughs in what were clearly the right places. Though she did go plenty stiff while he was creasing over the misspent 200 grand.

And he didn’t trust her – couldn’t. Or not with everything, anyway. But that wasn’t shit a person could make up, it was straight bananas. Specially the part about how she’d once almost killed the same creep, ages before. With a bourbon bottle, of course. Plus – he knew her, could pick one of her lies out in his sleep.

“Elizabeth,” he said eventually, “I wasn’t gonna kill you over the funny money neither. Yeah, that blocking my number shit was dumb but-”

She looked like she wanted to interrupt, so he shook his head, shutting that down. He was mid-flow, after all.

“You gotta plan for stuff to get caught onto eventually. Ain’t I taught you to flip your game?”

She nodded her agreement.

“So I get you was scared, panicked. But at a certain point you had to notice the gun was in your hand, not mine. And that I was asking you to shoot _Turner_.”

Elizabeth hmmed.

And then she launched into it – something about the cameras, and his stuff in her storage units, and how shooting a fed was the dumbest idea she’d ever heard.

So he tried to explain the difference between setting someone up, and having leverage over them – and she was miffed, saying she didn’t want him having anything on her. But tough shit. That was the biz. Plus he had to pull her up on watching too much trash TV – wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with an agent before when it came up. You only needed to make it look like some other outfit was at fault. Simple as pie. And there was a couple points he thought it was all gonna devolve again, times she weren’t quite satisfied. But it seemed a little untangled, eventually.

“I’ve never known what to expect from you,” she said with a sigh. “You’re like some – crazy wildcard.”

Which was goddamn hilarious, even half of it considered. He was logical, methodical. She was the one who went careening in any direction – throwing away random dead bodies without checking and whatnot.

“Whatever,” he said dismissively – not of her, but of all of it – “guess we both dumbasses.”

Her eyes went saucer-wide, suggesting he was being uncharacteristic as all shit. Like pride oughta come before reason. But that had never been his style. There were a lot worse things a person could do than acknowledge historical stupidity. Die, for one. Making mistakes you lived through was only a problem if you refused to learn from them.

He’d wanted her to _get_ it, she’d wanted him to understand why she couldn’t. Round and round they’d gone, a pair of idiots. Thing was, he could admit it might not have been his best plan ever. Cos it’d involved Elizabeth and she was – like that. Illogical and shit. And he could see he’d got her panicked and fucked up – fine, whatever.

But, still, even if he knew how it sounded like an ironic echo of her playbook, “I have a _kid_-”

“You think I don’t know that?” And she was furious, appalled. “Why do you think I was so trashed when you came back? You stupid… _raspberry_?”

And, wow, her insult game needed some serious work. Though he didn’t think that fact was what got her crying – quiet but clear.

Still, wasn’t like they were the same. He’d never hurt her – didn’t think he could’ve. And she’d – she’d done what she did. And much as he appreciated the apology and explanation, it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, enough. She wanted – what? Absolution? Him to tell her it was okay, that she’d made a mistake?

“Do you think- I know it’s a lot to ask and I’m sorry, but. It’s selfish, it is, I know it is. But I just. I can’t imagine I’m ever going to feel this way about somebody else. And I. If that’s all you’re ever going to see when you look at me. I don’t know. I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I’m sorry but- I can’t. It hurts. It hurts so much. And I know it’s not- But.”

She was babbling, barely getting some of them words out between sobs, but he caught ‘em anyway.

And, whoa, there’d been some shit there he’d not been expecting.

So he pulled her forward, wrapped his arms round her, let her collapse a little. Pressed a light kiss to her hair. Because that was okay – wasn’t it?

Though he was the one making – then breaking – all them rules. Had no one else to bargain with over what acceptable behaviour was.

He patted her back a bit, till she calmed down. And then he just said it – what he’d been thinking. Cos why not, right? And if she could simply give him this, there was a chance he’d be able to – well. “Maybe I’m just better than you.”

He meant it every way – a better person; cannier criminal; more skilled at handling his shit.

But she pushed out his hold, and he could see from her red angry face that she wouldn’t be able to let him have even that. It had felt like they’d been getting somewhere – somewhere close to. But she still had to cast herself in the light of innocence. Or if not that, then somehow above _him_.

“You’re not better than me,” she all but yelled. “You’re just _braver_.”

And, hmm, maybe that wasn’t a lens without merit.

But. “I ever hurt you?”

“Yes.” Her answer flew at him immediately, and that hadn’t been what he’d been predicting – not at all.

Her hand went to her heart then, as her gaze dropped. Like she thought he’d lay into her, tease her for that admission. Which maybe he woulda, any day she hadn’t been leaking heartfelt declarations, all teary. So he let it slide, specially since she weren’t offering up any specifics.

“You ain’t scared of me,” he tried instead. Cos he knew that for true.

“Am too,” and she still sounded furious, for some reason.

“You are not-”

She grabbed his hand then, kinda vicious, placed it atop her chest with both of hers. And he shoulda had something to say about her making him grope her tit but. Not _now_. And not for them usual reasons neither. And anyway his mouth had got kinda dry somehow, his head threatening to spin.

“I’m scared you’re going to _leave_.”

And, jesus.

“Rio, I’m scared you won’t let _me_ go when I finally come to my senses. I can’t do this forever, I just can’t. It’s like being in a constant fucking state of anxiety – I have butterflies every minute I’m with you, and every minute I’m not cos _I’m waiting to see you again_.”

Suddenly she shoved his hand off her, started pacing about. Then rounded back on him.

“You know what, fine. You want to be better than me – let’s just say you are. I mean, you know I don’t believe it. But I’ll pretend if it’ll make you happy-”

She sounded near hysterical again, got stuck in a loop over, “We’re the same, we’re the same, aren’t we? Don’t you think? We’re the same.”

So he gathered her to him once more – cos what the fuck else was he supposed to do, right?

And it was so _Elizabeth_ it made his heart ache. Wanting something – him, this, whatever – so much, not being able to get out her own way long enough to make a grab at it. Digging her heels in over something petty. He hid his smile in her hair.

But then she was muttering again, so he nudged back a ways, to hear her proper.

“I still think murdering an FBI agent is _dumb_, whatever you say. And killing Turner in cold blood? It’s _unconscionable_. He was just doing his job, really, even if was hurting us.”

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

“But, I swear. Give me a fucking gun. I’ll go shoot him in the face right now, I will. If it would make up for it. If-”

She looked like she’d been mulling – agonising – over it some stretch. And he didn’t believe she could – not really. But he saw she thought she’d manage it.

Though – what the hell. For real.

He moved her back a little further, arms at her shoulders. Needed to lock eyes, get her to see him, properly.

“Okay, one. I ain’t going anywhere near you and a gun. You got an itchy trigger finger.”

She made a face of aggrieved acknowledgement which – which he’d come back to later. No need to get distracted.

“Two, we in the middle of a conversation, now ain’t the time to go running off shooting people. No one ever teach you any manners, jesus. And three, offing a fed who’s tryna make a play against you – not smart.”

“What.”

“Oh relax, sweetheart. I’m sorting it.”

“_What_.”

“Not now, Elizabeth. I swear to god-”

She opened her mouth like she was actually gonna start talking again. And it was infuriating. How could she not _see_ that he was-

So he kissed her. Just a light press, in much the same vein as hers had been. And it wasn’t perfect, not be a long shot. She was kinda soggy from all that weeping, some snot about too. But he had a grubby kid – had been one too – and in his line of work he’d been covered in some unpleasant sticky stuff plenty. It was actually fairly difficult to gross him out, as it went.

And. Well, he’d been thinking. About how some of the shit Steffi’d said to him – still wasn’t above trotting out in a certain mood when they disagreed over something regarding Marcus – hurt like all hell. But how that hadn’t curdled the depths of love he had for her – changed in form as it was from what it had been once. There was stuff she’d done purely to wound – but she was the mother of his child for christ’s sake. They’d grown up together, had all that history. And – yeah.

Or his big sister, and how some of the mire she’d put him through was just atrocious, too fucking mean, though she’d only been a child too. The way that if he reflected on it too much, he’d just wanna follow Marcus around all day, every day – get between him and any kid that even looked at him funny. Though he knew that weren’t practical, wouldn’t actually help none.

The gulf between him and his father, before he’d passed, had been on his mind too. There’d been some unbroachable chasms there. How that whole generation had tried to excommunicate cousin Robby right out the family after he’d come out, for example. Rot like that. But it hadn’t made him love his dad any less, not if you got right down to it.

The world – people too – was more than good or bad. Shit got complicated. So maybe there were things that couldn’t be put aside. But maybe they could not colour everything, neither.

He kissed her proper then, and she was as eager as she’d ever been.

Started backing her toward her bedroom, but she pulled away before they could get there. And, whatever. If she wanted to take it slow it’d be outta character for her, but he didn’t mind. Well, not much.

But she was shuffling around awkward, not meeting his gaze, no matter how he moved his head.

“You don’t have to- If you’re just doing this to cheer me up, don’t. Please.”

He snorted. “Darling, you the crazy bitch that shot me. What I care about cheering you up?”

That seemed to appease her, for some godawful reason. Cos then she was looking up at him, smiling. And it was _stupid_. The way it made his heart wobble, clench even.

She took his hand when he offered it, and it wasn’t long before he had her pressed up against the door inside her room. Deepening the kiss had been a struggle cos she kept breaking off in tears or rapturous laughter. And it was- yeah, he couldn’t even front, it was cute as fuck. But still, he’d rather have her moaning.

Though he still did kinda wanna ask. So just. Just fuck it.

“You ain’t gonna tell me to piss off again after, are you?”

Giant-eyed, she drew out a, “Nooo,” clutching up at him. And it shoulda been ridiculous. How disgustingly raw she was being, her unlikely clinginess. But it just felt like something deep inside him was furling open. Like a weight on his back he hadn’t known about was suddenly vanished.

“He took my _kids_.”

And, yeah, he’d known that. Remembered why they’d had the place to themselves all them hours. But she was looking at him like that was supposed to be more significant and _oh_.

Maybe he’d always had an inkling then - deep, _deep_ down. Perhaps the puzzle pieces had been splayed about in a way he coulda probably worked out how to put together.

“He tried to leverage them? Cut you off?”

She nodded.

“What an idiot,” Rio said with a great deal of cheer. “Shoulda known it’d just make you want it more.”

Elizabeth gave him a look like she didn’t wanna talk about no dumb ex-husband, or dwell on the bad times, or really waste their mouths on talking more. And, yeah, she’d always been a decent ideas man – so he followed her to the bed.

*

He’d already thought a while that the tension, that awful heat, between them had to snap – if he was being honest. He’d just been hoping to put it off long as possible.

But when he’d let himself drift to the idea, he’d assumed it’d be with her pressed to or over something conveniently there, mouths to themselves at least mostly, transforming frustrations into delicious friction before they flowed back. Hadn’t anticipated something like- But, well, she’d always played her cards close to her chest, hadn’t she.

If that first time - back in the bar bathroom - had been trying, and failing, to get it out their systems, then the second one had felt like putting that notion behind them – least it had to him. In retrospect, maybe he coulda recognised it for a farewell from the way she’d mapped every inch of him with her fingers, committed him to memory. So if that’d been a goodbye, their third go had the trappings of a greeting. A desperate meeting - a welcoming home - after so long apart. Beyond that he wasn’t sure he even had the language for it, and no dumb word of the day calendar would neither. She was reverent, he could say that for sure. And so he’d been that way too – what else was he supposed to do under the circumstances, after all.

When he’d joked afterwards about needing to head out she’d fucking _c__lamped _on him, whispering something that mighta been threats. It was – kinda a lot. But not in a bad way. He always thought, way underneath it all, he had a decent grip on who she was. He’d seen her pissed as hell, sad as all get out, scared out her mind. Never figured her capable of quite this. Knew she could be loving, caring, sure. But she held to her control, wasn’t about letting that shit slip.

He figured she’d calm down soon, might find some moderation by the next day even. It was like some levee had cracked, and he knew a bit about that. Emotions she’d been keeping in check, though not an eye on, finally spilling over. Didn't stop him being a little curious. So he eyed her suspiciously a bit, roaming her face, which wasn’t a _challenge_ exactly with her tits just _there_ and her ass presumably in the usual place-

“What?” she asked, when she noticed his stare.

“Why _now_?”

He didn’t figure it actually had anything to do with Turner, or whatever. She couldn’t truly be tryna play him with all that – no one in the world was that good an actor. But it was kinda alarming to think she’d been smothering so much without him cottoning on. Though maybe he just hadn’t let himself look for – at – it.

She wriggled, shrugged, glanced away. “I guess I got in my head about it recently. Significant date and all.”

Oh shit, he never had found out when her birthday was.

“Do you not know?” she asked, almost exasperated, peering back at him.

He raised an eyebrow, and he could _tell_ how jealous she was over how much stronger he still was at that trick than she’d managed yet.

“It’s been a year since, uh,” she said, miming terrible finger guns. And that shoulda been awful, her pressed up near him doing a sucky impression of the worst thing that ever happened to him – that she’d _done to_ him. But it merely had him snorting. And why the fuck shouldn’t he laugh, if he wanted?

“Oh yeah?” he asked. “Ain’t exactly marked on my calendar.”

Damn, she was sentimental. Or maybe just had a good head for dates. It was – soothing, maybe.

Then, cos it was kinda funny and whatnot, he added, “Happy anniversary.”

She hmphed, looking unimpressed.

And then, eyeing her, all spread out and naked, affection obvious in her eyes even as she played at being annoyed – he figured, wasn’t really like he needed to wait for her to make a move, did he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Beer by Reel Big Fish. Rio's, like, the perfect age to have had an appalling ska punk phase, no? Probably sewed an 'I like bras...s' patch to his own jeans.


	8. let me dig into your brain, folks falling like rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> full circle, kinda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should apologise for how much of a Floyd/vinyl nerd/hipster I made Rio, but I'm not gonna cos it feels Very True.

Rio was lying on his cool, firm hardwood floor – listening to _The Dark Side of the Moon _the way it was supposed to be heard, on vinyl.

He’d been noodling air guitar, just a little, before ‘On the Run’ kicked in. He actually liked the track, though he knew a lotta people didn’t rate it. But he’d been around enough stressy folks in his life to appreciate an aural approximation of an anxiety attack when it sounded.

He mighta zoned out a little during, but suddenly he became aware of some relatively high-pitched wailing. ‘The Great Gig in the Sky’ was a ways off yet, clocks only just tolling, so he wasn’t too sure what was happening.

It wasn’t till he turned his head to his left that he realised – Elizabeth! Of course.

She looked to be crying something fierce – tears all down her and these just _destroyed_ fucking noises bursting outta her. Absolutely goddamn losing it – huge belly laughs crumpling her body, face lit with straining joy.

He poked at her a little, tried to find out what was up. And, okay, maybe he’d known the spots he was hitting were ticklish ones, weren’t about to calm her down none. But when it looked she was having so much fun she might not be breathing proper he cooled it. Tried to remember where that bottle of water had got to – back before everything had turned so hazy.

He soothed a hand over Elizabeth’s cheek, tryna get her peaceful. Then pulled at her face, just a little, wanted to see it proper.

“What’s so funny?” Rio asked when he could, indulgent smile on. Cos her sense of humour verged on atrocious at the best of times. Toasty, the answer could land anywhere between: ‘I don’t know’, ‘curtains’, ‘you ever think about how teeth are really weird?’ and, occasionally, something so _actually_ hilarious and incisive it’d blow the air right out his lungs.

Giggles still limped around her words but she got out, “Do you remember the time I shot you?”

And it shouldn’t have been funny, certainly not _that_ much, but somehow – it was. That that was their story. That that was what had led them to – well.

Once he’d found that water bottle – conveniently situated by where his right hand had been, he managed, against the tide of his own obvious amusement, “Remember the time you got me arrested?” And, for reasons he did understand, that had them cackling till they just about choked.

“How about the first time you had a gun to my head?” Elizabeth retorted, water dribbling a bit cos she refused to sit up much as she drank. Fucking slob. _His_ slob, mind.

“Nah,” he lied, “tell it me.”

And – and some things mighta got a little fuzzy, watching sunlight trip across her features, during the parts with the proper wailing over his stereo.

So maybe he was pretty baked too. Elizabeth being to blame – like she was with most things. The good and the bad. She’d claimed it was some significant chunk of months since they’d first done something or other (oh he’d heard her all right, but it was too absurd to dignify), and that it needed celebrating. He was close to certain she barely had three sentimental bones anywhere in her body and was just making shit up at this point. _Almost_ sure, anyway.

She’d gone all in on her baking idea, even made him source some hash special. Swore she’d researched and it’d taste better, though he’d said the point wasn’t supposed to be the taste – not really. And anyway didn’t she remember the time that she’d-

But then Elizabeth’d cut him off with a kiss, distracted him from his point. Which he didn’t much mind, as it happened. Excessively as she pulled that trick.

And anyway when he’d _tried_ what she’d made he’d genuinely fucking groaned – hadn’t been playing it up or nothing. They were _delicious_. Said he’d been completely wrong, offered profuse apologies. And she’d considered it so important - passionately listing ingredients, “The zest of _two_ large oranges; ground almonds; just cocoa powder – not melted chocolate, though you wouldn’t know, would you?; nutmeg; cinnamon; only a pinch of ginger,” she’d not let him kiss her again till she was near finished explaining. Cos she liked teaching him stuff as much as he did her, loved being right maybe a smidge more even. And that was fine with him, never been too many things he enjoyed more than listening to her.

When he’d tried to go back for a second she’d smacked his hand away, suddenly full of wisdom he knew exactly how she’d gained. Then she’d shown him the other set, the sobriety brownies, before grabbing containers and them extra sticky sticky-notes they were both fond of so she could label things appropriately.

Got to lecturing him – as if he didn’t know – on how it was difficult not to eat something tasty if it was right _there_, even if you shouldn’t. So he’d made a filthy joke, cos his were _actually_ funny. And she’d squawked, acting she didn’t think it acceptable in front of the baked goods, or whatever. But he hadn’t bought it, specially cos she didn’t seem to have _no_ problem with him eating her out, right there, once he’d got her situated on the counter. Her moans had been muffled some by the non-sobriety treat she’d started in on. So maybe he’d snagged another when she was distracted, and then she had too cos she couldn’t let him one-up her, never. And it mighta ramped up faster than entirely necessary, and that weren’t really no surprise.

Some point during ‘Money’ he found himself saying, and it felt like it weren’t the truth even if he meant it, “I’m not fucking you on the floor, Elizabeth.” There was a goddamn bed right _ther__e _for christ’s sake and-

But then she started draping herself across him, straddled pleasingly. Had the absolutely audacity to say, “Sweetheart, who said you had to do any of the work?” kinda minxy, kinda corny. Like he’d _known_ she would.

And the preposterous pet names didn’t rankle, not at all. The way she’d picked up another piece of his personality – stolen one more thing from him. Not with the way she looked at him when she dropped them – like she meant them, as if all she ever wanted to do was tease him to distraction, saying with her expression she automatically went crazy hard for anything that drew them alike. Cos she appreciated every chance he gave her to burrow nearer, and wouldn’t stop offering those to him neither.

Steffi had noticed it – the first time he’d let the two of them meet. Not from Elizabeth calling him ‘darling’ about fifty fucking times during dinner, though she had. Somehow Steffi, and maybe it was just how long she’d known _him_ that tipped her to it, had clocked it right off. How fortified Elizabeth ran, how she’d brook no nonsense – not really, her stubbornness and pig-headedness. All them similarities buried under that soft exterior.

Cos what Steffi’d said to him after was, “See, didn’t I always say you were a self-absorbed narcissist?” with a real triumphant peal. “Must be like boning your own reflection.” But she’d meant it nice, he’d known. And anyway, she’d added, “I like the two of you together, Chris. She’s good for you.” And he’d only made some random noise cos, really, what was the point going on about something patently true. It just _was_.

Despite handling getting on top of him okay, Elizabeth had got a bit stumped over trying to remove two pairs of jeans. Rio was smugly lying back, head pillowed at his crossed wrists. There was a _fine_ bed mere steps away – she’d picked the thing, fucking hell, and-

She shrugged, giving him angel eyes – sure sign she was up to something devilish, before turning them upwards to gaze at the ceiling. One of her hands disappeared into her panties and. And, well, that wasn’t fair – straight up cheating. He wouldn’t mind if he could actually _see_ but-

“All right, all right, I’m helping,” he grumbled. She definitely looked _too_ pleased by his concession when her head tilted back down. But he tended to enjoy that on her. Kinda an awful lot.

Elizabeth got herself kneeling over him instead with a teeny bit of assistance, did a passable job of shimmying her jeans down her thighs one-handed. But then contorted at some absurd angle, tryna get them past a knee without removing her other hand from where it’d noticeably remained.

She looked – was being – totally fucking ridiculous, shuffling all over, which he didn’t have many complaints against and oooh anyway, one of her breasts – gloriously bra-free, appeared right over his face. And oh yeah – he remembered now. How before she’d insisted on them lying on the floor for some godawful reason she’d reached around then pulled her bra from under her t-shirt. She’d been muttering, “Bras are _stupid_,” as she chucked it but then appeared to apologise to the offending item. Par for the nutty course.

He could see her puckered nipple, clear, beneath her top. So he just – went for it, surged up and _bit_ through the material.

“Ooooh,” she moaned, before losing her balance and falling onto him with a soft, “ooof.”

And he decided to take – pity, or charge, or the opportunity – or whatever. Rolled her off him so he could get their positions switched, sorta. Made sure she landed gentle, cos she kvetched about her back real feral at the slightest provocation anyway. And honestly – he had no idea why she’d wanted to get down on the ground. But here they’d got to, so.

He peeled her jeans off completely, panties too, and Elizabeth at least had the good grace to look suitably impressed at his fantastic motor skills. He tried getting down on his front between her spread legs, but that was uncomfortable as shit – which he’d known it would be, even when he'd not been harder than the Times cryptic. Ended up turning on his side some, coaxing her over his mouth, a hand clenching her hip. And the angle weren’t _great_, not for comfort at least. It took her longer than usual – spaced as she was – but it seemed a lot more intense too. And when she was writhing against his tongue, giving _great_ voice to her pleasure, he figured anything’d be worth that – pretty much.

So then after – with her collapsed back down – he asked, “Wanna go again?”

And she just about managed to raise an eyebrow, definitely succeeded at biting that beautiful bottom lip, between all the sorta blank staring and deep breathing she had going on.

Her throaty, “Yeah,” had been very enthusiastic.

But so too was his, “Bed.” Decisive, and all.

And once he got her there she murmured, “Mmm, mattress,” with such zeal, starfishing all round. Made it extra sweet to point out how right he’d been. She was such a loon.

And he was willing – plenty more than – to make good on what he’d thought he’d promised. But when he made a move that way she looked honestly angry a sec, her face screwed in annoyance. Told him, “Fuck me,” in a tone that bordered on intimidating – like he really oughta be able to read her mind. Which was – endlessly adorable, kinda. God, but he was sprung. So he obliged, obviously.

*

Later, ‘Eclipse’ having faded out, and thank fuck his record player had one of them automatic arms, they bickered some over who had to choose _and_ put on the next album. Even picking seemed like too much work – but he knew he had to stay sharp to veto anything terrible she suggested. Elizabeth’s music taste was _wild_.

The squabbling lasted till they remembered the other thing was also hooked up to the stereo, and the remote for it was sitting right there – on the shelf by the head of the bed. And so was Elizabeth’s water, so no one had to get up. Though then she decided she had to go piss anyway – and then they were both laughing, massive. And he knew why he was, and he knew she did too – cos she was cracking up for the same reason. And that was just – it was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Crumblin' Erb by Outkast ft Sleepy Brown. (Rio strikes me as a massive Big Boi/Outkast fan. Probably an awful funk nut, and a terrible Kate Bush obsessive as a result too.)
> 
> The Dark Side of the Moon is, well, it's The Dark Side of the Moon. Perfect album? Perfect album.
> 
> I felt like Beth might've spent too much time crying in this fic, even though it makes sense cos she was ragged. So it was really important to me to have her happy in this last part. I love her. <3
> 
> And generally:
> 
> 1\. Drink responsibly. Take drugs responsibly. I promise it's a lot more fun. And stay hydrated!  
2\. Hate is poison. But sometimes it's all a person has for warmth. May we all be healed.  
3\. If someone shoots you in the chest three times, don't go falling in love with them. I mean twice might be understandable, but c'mon.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for their comments and kudos and encouragement <3 <3 <3 <3 I'm so glad this resonated with y'all!


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